


There is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way.

by throughcrimsonstars



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:14:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2542214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throughcrimsonstars/pseuds/throughcrimsonstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of One-Shots in which the Doctor and Clara get domestic. [Prompts are very welcome]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I decided to write this series of Whouffaldi one shots because I one of the things I like the most about Twelve and Clara is how familiar and domestic their relationship has become. I love those moments in which their both in her flat, or she leaves her student's homework on the TARDIS or the way he plans out a day in Bright with her. It's such a pity they don't show more moment like these in the actual show, but, of course, I get it, because the show is about their adventure. So this is why I'm writing about these moments. You wont find a lot of angst in my one-shots by my part, because I like the happy stories. Feel free to ask for any story, though. Please, just remember which is the theme of the fan fictions. I'm not one of the many talented writers in the world of fan fiction, but I'm not rubbish either and I do my best. I hope you enjoy :)


	2. Something Ancient, Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara needs a new television set.

The Doctor examined intently the screen in front of him. He tried working on the buttons and frowned when one of them came off. He stared at it in his open palm, before showing it to Clara. The girl was standing behind him, chewing nervously her fingernails. She offered him a tentative smile.

"What's the verdict, Doctor?"

He raised an eyebrow and and staggered to his feet. "What do you want me to do, Clara?" he lifted his hands in exasperation, "I'm not a miracle worker. I can't bring back the dead".

"It's not  _dead_ , it's just broken," she lamented, "Can't you fix it? Use your sonic screwdriver. I once saw you use it to explode an archery target just because you were a bit annoyed. I bet fixing my television set shouldn't be too hard".

He frowned again and gave her the special look he reserved for the "pudding brains". "Oh yes, good idea. I'd forgotten that it is also a  _magic wand",_  he swiftly extracted his screwdriver from his pocket and started swooshing it through the air, "I'll just cast a magic spell. I'm sure this will fix your television and also turn it into a chicken which lays golden eggs.  _Expelliarmus_!"

"You should go and revise your  _Harry Potter_. I believe the right spell is  _Re_ _paro."_

He glared at her, but Clara laughed and pushed him playfully. He jumped back and pointed the screwdriver towards her, in a defense position. She smiled at his reaction. She sometimes missed all the affection his last incarnation used to show her, but she had learn to love and enjoy how awkwardly he reacted to any form of physical contact. Also, Clara thought, that made each time he touched her a special moment. A moment in which she knew he cared and trusted her.

"Are you going to jinx me?" she teased him.

"Enough with the Harry Potter jokes, lets move to the part in which we trash your broken television and move on to explore new worlds."

"If you're not willing to collaborate, I'd better go find some one else who will," she stuck her nose in the air, pretending to be angry and offended with him. She wouldn't give up so easily, also because she knew perfectly well that he wouldn't leave without her, and she would definitely not step on the TARDIS until he'd helped her.

"You need to let it go," he's accent heavy in his words. "It's over. There's nothing that can be done. It's too...  _ancient_."

"Says the two thousand years old alien," she whispered to herself.

"What did you say?" he raised his voice as he moved a step closer to her.

"Nothing," she answered hurriedly. "It isn't  _ancient_ ".

"Honestly, I've seen televisions in the fifties that were more modern that yours," he retorted to her complaint. She looked at him doubtfully. She had grown attached to that television set. She was a bit sentimental when it came to her personal possessions, so she didn't feel ready to replace it with a new one to whom she would have to learn to grow use to. All the same, she needed one and her refusal to admitting that repairing her old television was a lost cause was plain out silly and nothing more. She sighed and finally admitted: "I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right," he sounded hurt. "I'm always right."

"Learn to accept victory with humility, would you?"

"Never," he spoke the word slowly as to emphasize it for her. She responded with a wide smile and he grinned back. They both stared at each other for a few seconds, before Clara broke the silence: "I'll have to buy a new one, then."

"You sure will," he nodded.

"Good. Let's go," she said while already moving to prepare herself and put on her jacket. The Doctor, utterly pleased and satisfied at how things had turned out, put his hands in the pocket of his coat, before making his way to the TARDIS.

"Where are you going? I don't think using the TARDIS to get there is a good idea. Let's take the bus."

He looked at her with wide eyes and a confused expression. "It's hardly likely that the bus could  _ever_  be better than the TARDIS to travel. Do you even know where we're going?"

"Of course. We're going to the shop to get me a new TV set," she said matter-of-factly. "Come on, now."

The Doctor just stared at her. It took him a few seconds to assimilate what she had said and even longer for him to fully grasp the implications of her words. He burst in a joyless and cold laughter. "You can do it later. Get P.E. to go with you. The skies of  _Arithmades_ are awaiting."

"I want to get this over and done with. It won't take long," she pleaded.

"I wouldn't think so! I'm not your shopping assistant, Clara," he protested. "You've got P.E.for that."

* * *

Twenty minutes later they were entering the technology department of the mini-mall four bus stops away from where Clara lived. As he followed her to the area which sold televisions sets, he wondered how she'd managed to drag him with her. He wasn't entirely sure, but she had to have been pretty convincing, since that had meant taking the bus. He scowled at the fresh memory of their short trip with the public transport. He shook his head. _Try to control a control freak_ , he thought.

"What are you going to buy?" he had decided to resign and just go with it. It was too late to back down, anyway.

"A television set," she replied, without looking at him but glancing around at the merchandise. "Try to keep up."

He sighed, exasperated. "I know  _that_. I mean, have you something specific in mind?"

Clara didn't speak right away. She was looking intently at the price tag of a medium sized television. When she straightened herself up, he saw her making a face and moving on. "Oh, I have a very specific kind in mind."

"Such as?" he observed the televisions with a bored expression.

"An affordable one."

He stop in his tracks and just stared at her. Sometimes he forgot she had these kind of issues. He forgot she had taxes to pay, and bills, and he forgot that her teaching was, in fact, a  _job_ , and not just an hobby. In moments like those, it struck him how she could go through such... mundane, everyday problems. He thought that his clever, resourceful, Clara shouldn't be worrying about things like being able to afford a decent TV set. All the monsters and perils he put her through were probably enough. He would never tell this out loud, of course, so he simply said: "Don't be silly. I can buy you one."

She finally turned to look at him and chuckled. "What, seriously?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, trying to appear casual so she wouldn't think it was a big deal. "I have no problems getting money and you know that."

She smiled at him without saying a word. Then she turned her back at him to return to her research. "You're very kind, Doctor, but I can take care of myself."

He snorted, but he was aware of his mistake when she looked back to glare at him so he tried in vain to cover it with a fake cough.

"I  _can_!" she argued.

"Yes m'am." She marched straight back at him and punched his arm.

"Oi," he bellowed, rubbing his painful arm.

"I've got a job. I pay for my own apartment, for my own bills and taxes and so I can very well pay for my own television, thank you very much," she said with a serious expression, so he couldn't do anything but raise his hands, defeated.

"Whatever you say, boss," he smiled at her. He could see her softened to it. They hadn't noticed how closed they had become to one another, as he stared down at her and she stared up at him, in perfect silence.

"Anyway, I said it mostly because I'm not intending to settle on a television set that is so small you can hardly distinguish one person from the other, this time," he continued. "I wouldn't do it only for you, you know."

"Oh right," she stretched the last word and laughed. "It's all clearer, now. I forgot how much you liked watching  _Six Feet Under_ with me. Sorry if I thought you were being kind."

"I  _am_ being kind," he acted offended. "But I'm interested in my benefits, too. And the one who likes  _Six Feet Under_  is  _you._ "

She put on a guilty smile. "Yeah, it's true," she admitted. "But don't pretend you're not enjoying it, too. Which was the one you liked?"

His cheeks went a little bit pink and he looked around as if checking that no one was listening in, before leaning forward to whisper so she would be the only one able to hear him. "It's  _Friends._ " And then added: "You know perfectly well, you're just trying to make fun of me."

Clara giggled and didn't pretend otherwise. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, it's a good TV show. I just think it's funny you like it because I can't really imaging you understanding half the jokes."

"Just let me buy you this stupid television," he snapped. "Stop being so stubborn."

Clara looked at him thoughtfully for a few seconds. "Fine," she surrendered.

"There you go. It wasn't that hard, was it?" he told her angrily, but he was only pretending, because he felt victorious -which didn't happen as often as he would have liked- and her smile was quite satisfying.

"But it's only because I know it isn't a problem for you and because you're doing it mostly for yourself," she said. "It's  _not_ because I couldn't manage it on my own. So, don't get used to it."

He shook his head, in exasperation. She always manage to get the last word.

* * *

The Doctor installed the television set fairly quickly, so Clara decided she had made the right decision by letting him do the work instead of calling the technician. When he finished she looked at him stand up and looking at the result of his work with a satisfied smirk stamped on his face. The television wasn't too fancy for her apartment, because she didn't want to make anyone suspicious, but it was definitely a good television. And it was much bigger than her old one.  

"So...", Clara started, hesitantly,"I've got a few recorded episodes, if you like."

He rolled his eyes. "I knew giving you My Sky for Christmas was a mistake," but he smiled and they both knew he didn't mean it one bit. "Fine. It's too late to go and explore planets, anyway."

Clara knew that when he said "too late" he was thinking only about her, because she was sure it could never be too late to explore planets for him. A warm sensation spread through her body as she looked at him in affection. "It is late", she looked at the time signaled by her wristwatch, "And I'm starving. Fancy some takeaway pizza?"

He grinned. "Should I even bother answering?"

She laughed and was about to go and fetch her phone, when she stopped and approached him. She halted very close to him. She looked at him intently and he raised her gaze, not without any effort. "Thank you, Doctor."

He stared at her, confused. "What for?"

She reached up on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. She smiled sweetly at him and gave him one of her "You really don't know?" looks. "For everything," she spoke quietly and he could feel she really meant it. "For buying me the Television, for understanding that I'm too tired to travel right now and for sticking around anyway."

He remained speechless and he muttered a "Don't mention it" only because he wanted to appear cool and not as if his hearts had started pumping furiously in his chest and his face had started burning in the spot where she had kissed him.

Her smiled became even wider and then she strolled happily out of the living room, telling him loudly and without looking back at him so he couldn't protest: "Pizza is on me."

He felt free to grin stupidly only once she was out of his sight. He put his hands in his pockets and let himself fall on the sofa, in peace and utterly content.

 

 

 

 


	3. Presents and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot is about Clara's birthday and how the Doctor deals with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my first one-shot, for the kudos and for the comments. They were few but SO appreciated :) Comments and constructive criticisms are always welcome! I hope you enjoy!

Neither of them had talked about it, but the Doctor knew perfectly well what day it was tomorrow. And this knowledge freaked him out, because it was Clara's birthday and he didn't know what to do about it.

When he was her  _dashing young gentleman friend_  everything seemed so simple and natural. What did he usually do in these kind of occasions? He had no idea. He thought about it and... Nothing. Total blackout.

He was in the TARDIS control room. He had been standing there for a while, perfectly still except for his long, frail, fingers, constantly switching from calm to agitated. In that moment he caressed the console gently, continuing to stare intently into empty space, just pondering in search of a solution to a problem he had tried for too long to avoid. What did the pudding brains usually do when they had to celebrate a dear friend's birthday?

"They buy presents!" he said out loud. "Yes, that is  _good_ ".

He finally moved from the position he had occupied for god knows how long. He ran up the stairs and grabbed a piece of chalk and started writing frantically on the blackboard. "Very good, Doctor," he congratulated himself. He would simply get her a present, it didn't need to be a big deal. He smiled, but then, all of a sudden, his face dropped. "What the hell am I going to buy her?" He stopped scribbling notes, the hand holding the piece of chalk lifted in mid-air. "What would she like?"

He grunted in exasperation. He was quite positive he knew her well enough to be able to find something she would like. Still, his usually hard working brain seemed determined not to collaborate that day. He finally understood what Clara had meant that first time on the TARDIS, about forgetting every single book ever read when someone asks which is your favorite. "Great. Now,  _that_ I remember!" He scowled, beating his forehead with the palm of his hand, "Is having a pudding brain contagious or something? I need to stop spending all this time with  _humans."_

 _Think, think, think,_ he ordered his brain, while circling around the room with heavy steps and his hands behind his back. He suddenly stop on his tracks, realization dawning on him and a wide smile growing on his face. That last memory had actually given him the solution.

"Books!" he burst out. He chuckled, prodding back down the stairs. "She loves books -Honestly, when she starts, it's impossible to make her shut up about them- I've found the perfect present," he grinned happily to himself and breathed a sigh of relief. "That wasn't so hard, after all."

He reached for the controls and started the engines, when his phone rang. He lifted the receiver and brought it to his ear, while still focusing on the buttons he was pressing and the commands he was giving the TARDIS about the destination. "Clara, Clara, Clara."

"Doctor?" the girl replied. "Is that you?"

"Of course it's me," he said. "Who did you expect? Father Christmas?"

There was a pause, before she continued. "You're too cheerful," her voice was clearly doubtful. "You're being suspicious. What are you up to?"

He rolled his eyes. "Do I need to be up to something to be happy to hear from you?"

"Oh Doctor," he could practically see her shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "You think you're  _so_ clever, but you still don't understand that I can see right through you and I always know when you're hiding something from me."

"I  _am_ so clever," he retorted incredulously. He ignored her other remarks and asked her "What do you want?", instead.

"Just checking in," she said slowly, with a casual tone of voice. "When am I going to see you? Are you coming tomorrow?"

He voice sounded hopeful and the Doctor's hearts skipped a beat. "Would you like me to?" he asked, even though he had already planed a visit.

"Of course," he heard her smile through the receiver and he silently smiled back.

"I'll pass by your flat after you're finished working, then."

"It's a date," she said, before adding quickly: "Well, not a  _date,_ not in that way _–_ oh, you know what I mean."

He chuckled quietly. "Sure thing, boss," he smirked. "Wouldn't want to make P. E. jealous, would I?"

"Oh, shut up," she laughed, and before hanging up she added: "See you tomorrow, Doctor."

* * *

He landed his TARDIS in a deserted alleyway in the middle of London and went to look for a bookshop. He didn't have to walk long, because very soon he found himself staring at a big building which had a sign in capital letters telling him he had found a bookshop called "FOYLES". He shrugged and went inside, but he soon realized the implications of entering a five floors bookshop with the intention of buying a book but not having any specific idea in mind. There were  _too_ many choices.

His first impulse was to grab the first thing at hand, so it could be over and done with. It would have been so easy, but something inside of him stopped him. He wasn't sure, but he felt uncomfortable with giving her such a poor gift. He felt a big part of him grow with the desire of seeing her happy because of whatever he had chosen for her. He tried to suffocate the urge to get her something special, because he didn't want to make a big deal out of it and because he knew what an effort it would require in a place this huge. Yet, just the idea of walking out with a totally impersonal present was making him unsatisfied.

He walked around the shop for what he felt as forever, and that was saying something coming from a two thousand years old Time Lord. He spent what were probably hours staring at books and growling at them, until he heard a voice coming from behind him.

An "Excuse me, sir" startled him, making him almost jump. "Yes?" he snapped. "Can I help you?"

The girl he found once he had turned angrily to face the source of the voice didn't budge nor flinch to his aggressiveness. Instead she just smiled, utterly unperturbed and seemingly not intimidated one bit. "That is what I wanted to ask  _you,_ actually," she told him gently. "You seem a bit lost."

He stared at her in confusion, until he noticed the nameplate which told him she worked there. "Oh," he said in surprise, and added gruffly: "I can handle myself, thank you."

The young woman didn't drop her smile and neither did she move from her spot. "You've been here for hours, just walking around here as if all these books were your mortal enemies," she said half serious, half joking. "I'm here to help. It's my job."

He scrutinized her, doubtfully. Could a mere bookseller help a big, bad Time Lord as himself in one of his biggest quests to date? He didn't think so. All the same, he wasn't in any position to deny any word she had said. "All right, fine."

She beamed at him. "So, who's the present for?"

His jaw dropped and he looked at her with wide eyes. He saw her own eyes shift to a guilty expression. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be indelicate," she said in a hurry. "It was just to give me an idea what to look for."

It took a while for him to react, but when he finally spoke his voice showed his concern: "How did you know I was looking for a present?"

If he had expected her to confess to him that she was some sort of psychic or something, he surely wasn't prepared for her to burst into a laughter that clearly stated that his intentions weren't quite a mystery for the keen observer. "Oh please. If it had been for yourself, you wouldn't be so anxious in your decision. I've worked here long enough to understand these kind of things," her voice was kind and patient. "The effort you're putting into it means that the person you're getting the present for must be very special. I've hardly seen anyone struggling this much to find the right book."

"Yes.  _No_ , she isn't," he corrected himself at once. He assumed an angry expression, but this time not directed neither to the girl, nor to the books.

 _"_ There's no need to be shy," she looked at him sympathetically. "Are you two very close?"

He pondered on the right answer, trying to figure out in only a few seconds what he had difficulty trying to understand in a life time. "I suppose we are," he said, tentatively. "Very close, in fact."

"Is she your girlfriend?", she asked, curiously.

"What?" he jumped. "Oh no, god forbids! Her boyfriend is a  _stupid P.E teacher_ , anyway."

She responded to the deep frown he always wore while thinking about Danny with a "I know something you don't" look. "I see," she just said, enigmatically. "Tell me a bit about your friend. What kind of person is she? What does she like?"

He thought intently before answering. "She's an English school teacher," he started. "She's very bossy and a bit of a control freak. She has a funny nose and a face that is simply too wide, but it just now occurs to me that this is probably not the information you were looking for."

"In fact, it isn't," but she didn't seem to mind at all. "She must be a great reader, since she's also an English teacher."

"Yes, she is," he nodded. "She has read so many books, I'll probably end up buying her something she has already read."

The Doctor watched the girl thinking, searching in her memory for an ideal gift for this unknown woman he hadn't managed to tell her much about. He saw the idea grow in her mind by the light in her eyes and smile she gave him. "I've got just the thing for you", she snapped her fingers and then gestured him to follow her.

He trotted behind her, uncertainty. There were too many books and she knew too little about Clara for it to be possible that she had already found a solution. She probably felt that he wasn't convinced because she looked back at him with a reassuring smile. "There is too great a risk, as you said, to choose a book she has already read. So, I thought, the best thing is to get her something that she loves but in a way to make it something special, do you understand what I mean?"

"Yes," he tried to keep up both with her words than with her steps, which were surprisingly fast. "And by yes I actually mean no. Explain yourself."

She finally halted and she gestured to the space in front of her. "Here you can find some classic novels of the English literature which have been printed relatively recently for passionate readers. What is so special about them and what makes them different from other copies of the same books, is that they are really beautiful, both on the outside than on the inside, and they also have some assays at the beginning and at the end written by contemporary experts", she looked proud while she showed him a few examples of what she was talking about. He had to give her credit. They were stunning and Clara would have loved each and every one of them. He saw  _Proud and Prejudice, Oliver Twist, Robinson Crusoe_... And then he saw the perfect gift to give to her. He knew it at once, and suddenly any doubt freed his mind like a long lost memory.

"They are a  _bit_ expensive, but for your special friend I think it's worth it," she said, but he wasn't listening. He just stared, wide eyed at the book. He lifted it and started looking through it. He slowly moved his head towards the young bookseller standing next to him and he met her wide grin. "So, it seems we have found our perfect pick, have we?"

He nodded. "You have not idea how much."

"Good." They both stayed in silence as he continued staring at the book in his hands. He finally decided to go and pay for it, but before doing so he smiled at her. "Thank you very much."

He knew she could sense how deeply grateful he was, in a way a simple "Thank you," couldn't possibly express. "Don't mention it. I'm just doing my job."

He nodded, another thank you implied in his eyes. He told her goodbye and then turned away. He wanted to get out of that shop quickly. He had a couple of other thing he wanted to do.

* * *

The next evening, Clara's apartment was filled with a loud, wheezing sound. The Doctor looked out of the TARDIS doors and called her name, but no one replied. He thought that maybe it was still a bit early for her to be back from school already. He decided to wait for her to return in her flat, so he grabbed the well rapped present and a bottle of wine before stepping out of his blue box and into her bedroom. He walked out, closing the doors behind him, and went to the living room. He put down the objects he was carrying on the couch and sat down next to them.

He waited. And waited. The minutes ticked by and he grew all the more impatient. He had the impulse of leaving and he decided not to just because she wasn't usually late and, after all the times she had been patient with him - ditching her in Glasgow for coffee and not coming back for three weeks came to mind -, she probably deserve some patience on his part, too.

He felt incredibly tired, all of a sudden. He lied down, trying not to squash the present and thought "I'll close my eyes just a second," before falling fast asleep.

* * *

It was the noise of Clara turning the lock with the key that woke him up. He jumped to a standing position, startled by the fact that he had managed to fall asleep. He looked outside and the hour on his wristwatch made him realize he must have been asleep for a few hours. He saw her come in and stop when she saw him, too.

"Doctor!, "she burst out, worried. "You're here!"

He stretched awkwardly. "Of course, I'm here. I thought we had an appointment."

Deep guilt dawned on her. "I know, I'm so sorry," she gave him an apologetic look. "At the last second, Danny and some other colleagues of mine surprised me by taking me out to celebrate. I couldn't get out of it, so I tried calling you many times but you weren't answering. I left a voice mail, so I was hoping you heard it. I'm so sorry."

He flinched at Danny's name and couldn't help being a little hurt that he had somewhat  _stolen_  her from him. But he was her boyfriend after all, he had every right to do so, unfortunately, so he just shrugged and told her not to worry about it. "I left the TARDIS in your bedroom, so that's why I probably didn't hear the phone ring."

She was about to say something when her sight was caught by something near to him which made her eyes widen in surprise. "What's that?"

He followed her gaze and realized she was referring to the present he had left on the sofa. "Oh, right", he hurried to pick them up, a little bit embarrassed "It's nothing, just – Happy birthday!"

He dropped both the book and the wine in her hands unceremoniously. She looked even more startled after his rough reaction to her question. She started at them for a few seconds and then raised her eyes to stare at him, with her mouth still open in surprise. "You  _knew_ it was my birthday?"

 _Of course I know, I always know_ , he thought, but he shrugged and gave her a casual "Yeah."

Her mouth curled into a smile and her eyes softened. "Thank you so much, Doctor," she came forward and tried to hug him, but it all resulted with an awkward attempt to embrace him with her arms occupied on her part and a struggle to brake free on his side. She ended up just patting carefully his shoulder with the hand which was holding the book.

Clara left him to go and switch on all the lights and he followed her in the kitchen where she went to put down the bottle of white wine. She turned to smile at him one more time. "It was so thoughtful of you. I feel guilty even more about leaving you waiting, now."

"You should be," but he mirrored her smile. "It's not a big deal. Is this what you do, don't you? In the world of pudding brains. It's a customs to give each other presents, isn't it?"

She gave him a cheeky smile, which meant that she didn't buy his attempt to come across as totally unconcerned. Her eyes asked him for the permission to open the package and when he nodded she started tearing excitedly the paper wrapping.

"Calm down," he laughed. "You're not so young, anymore. Please, try to contain yourself."

"I just received a present by my favorite big, bad Time Lord, you can't understand what an honor it is. I can't wait to see what it is," she joked and then looked down at what she had uncovered.

Her eyes widened for the second time that evening and she stared at the book in silence. She studied intently the front cover and then the back cover, before opening the book and examining the pages. Eventually, she closed it and pulled it to her chest, still without saying a word.

"Clara?," his voice betrayed his concern, "Is everything OK?"

She looked up at him and he notice immediately that her eyes were slightly veiled by tears. This scared him more than he wanted to admit.

"Clara?," he gasped, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you."

She laughed and shook her head. " _I'm_  sorry," she wiped her eyes with her sleeves, "I didn't mean to get so emotional, but I'm not sad. Actually, I'm very happy."

He stared at her in confusion. "So why are those... _things_ in your eyes? It's a roller-coaster with you humans and your...  _emotions."_

She leaned her had to the side and looked at him sweetly, without saying a word. Then, she read the title out loud: " _The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood_ "

"Yes, I'm aware of what I got for you, thank you for reminding me, though. Look at the first page, you missed something," he nodded encouragingly.

She quickly opened the book and found a few words. While she read them her smile grew and when she finished she laughed. She looked up from the book and he could see her eyes shining in happiness.

"As you can see, I paid a visit to an old friend", he spoke before she could, "You're probably the only person in history who has a copy of The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood signed by Robin Hood, Earl of Loxley".

"I am a really lucky girl."

"It would seem so," he said and they both grinned at each other.

Clara grabbed a couple of glasses and opened the bottle of wine with a bottle opener. She poured the contents in the two cups and turned to face the Doctor. "This calls for a celebration," she passed him his glass.

He took it in his hand, without looking away. "Happy birthday, Clara."

She leaned her cup to his, to make a toast. "To the most beautiful present anyone has ever given to me," the air sounded of the gentle collision of their glasses. "Thank you Doctor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably Robin Hood was an illiterate, I don't really know. Just go with it ;)


	4. Victories and Defeats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Clara go to beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the people who use some of their time to ready my silly, little, fic ^^ Comments are always much appreciated :)

As soon as the Doctor set his foot out of the TARDIS and on the soft sand of a beach on the coast of the Pacific Ocean, he knew he would live to regret letting Clara plan their day. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but then she had gone all “Let's hit the beach, Doctor”. He had tried to argue that anywhere else in time and space would have been much better and she had responded just as fiercely that he had said it was her turn to decide. There was no point in trying to convince her otherwise, because he would always do as he was told, with her, in the end. She was the boss, his Clara, and she always would be.

The observed his surroundings, and saw happy couples lying under the sun, families eating ice creams, children running around and screaming.... he shivered at this sight, even though it was so hot he had already started sweating. He unleashed the top button of his shirt to get some air and turned slightly his head towards the TARDIS. “Clara,” he shouted. “Are you ready, yet?”

He felt hurried steps on metal floor coming from behind him. “I'm coming,” he heard a muffled sound in returned. She stumbled out of the time machine wearing a pair of dark glasses and a sun-dress, carrying a big wicker bag and a beach umbrella. He frowned at her and she grinned back. “Let's go, shall we?”

She didn't wait for the reply, and she made her way through the crowd. He followed her to a free spot, where she dropped the bag and handed him the sunshade. The Doctor just stared at it, frowning. “What am I supposed to do with this?,” he asked her, deeply perplexed.

She sighed, patiently. “I don't know how to put the umbrella well enough it won't fall on top of us while we're under it. Could you do it?,” and then she added, with a tentative smile, “Please?”

He scowled, but took it nonetheless. While he made a hole in the sand with the sunshade, he watched Clara extract from her wicker bad two big beach towels and laying them neatly side by side. She smoothed the edges and shook a few grains of sand off them, before standing back up and looking satisfied at her work. Once he was sure the beach umbrella was steady in the sand, without the risk of it flying away any time soon, the Doctor opened it, casting a shadow around them.

He turned to look back at Clara and almost shouted in surprise. He covered his eyes with an arm. “Clara!,” he said frightened. “What the hell are you thinking?”

He jumped forward and snatched a towel from the ground and threw it at her, still avoiding to look at her.

“Doctor, what-”, Clara asked, confused by that sudden reaction.

He was giving his back to her, arms crossed and a hand covering his eyes. “For goodness sake, Clara,” he mumbled. “You're  _naked_! Please, cover yourself.”

Clara looked at him, transfixed, her eyes and mouth wide open. “I'm not  _naked,_ ” she protested, but she checked her body anyway, just to be sure. “It's just a bikini.”

She had gotten rid of the sun dress that had been covering her bathing-suit while he had been busy with the sunshade. She reached for his arm and tried to make him face her. “Come on, Doctor,” she laughed at his modesty. “it's not as if all the other women here are wearing monk robes.”

He turned slightly towards her, but his features were twisted in a painful grimace, as if he was trying not to look at her too directly. “But, but you are different. You're always so full of clothes and now you're all...  _skin,_ ” his eyelids lifted very slowly and carefully. “Where did all this skin come from, anyway?”

She patted him gently on the shoulder with a pitiful expression. “Just relax,” she said in a soothing tone. “It's OK. Look, I'm covered in all the strategic places.”

He glared at her, but decided he wouldn't be able to avoid looking at her for an entire day, so the best he could do was to adjust himself to all that... nakedness. Clara beamed at him and grabbed his cheek and shook it gently, “There you go, you big old grey-haired stick insect,” she mocked him playfully, speaking to him as if he was a boy who had finally learned his lesson.

He pulled away from her angrily and lifted his forefinger, warningly. “Don't ever do that again.  _Ever._ ” She looked at him with a cheeky smile, her body adjusting in a competitive posture and her fists pressed to her hips. “Dare me.”

She winked at his startled expression, and turned away to lay the towel back on the sand. He looked at her, frowning, and couldn't help but feel that she had just won a competition he didn't know they were having.

* * *

The Doctor sat awkwardly on his beach towel, unable to think of anything else to do. Clara was right next to him, on her own, not looking at him but rummaging in her bag for something. Her arm finally emerged with a bottle of sunscreen. She squeezed some of the white lotion on her hand and started spreading it on every inch of bare skin she could reach.

She eventually turned her head in his direction, holding out the sun lotion, half expectantly, half uncertainly. “Doctor?”

“Yes?” he asked, completely unaware of what she was asking him.

“Could you..” she seemed unusually shy. “...put some on my back?”

“Why on hearth would I want to do that?” he asked, sincerely curious.

She rolled her eyes and made an impatient sound. “I can't reach. I don't want to get sun-burnt.”

He scowled but gave in. he took the bottle in his hand and moved behind her as she moved her hair out of the way. The lotion was cool in his hand and it made Clara shiver at his touch, when he started spreading it on her shoulders. His hand was shaking slightly and it only got worse when he realized that what he was doing was, in fact, touching her bare skin. He tried to ignore the frantic beating of his hearts and, in stead, focused on anything that wasn't the shape of her body or the way she responded to his touch.

When he finished with her back, the Doctor backed away a bit too quickly and gave her a gruffing “There. Done.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” she smiled at him.

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, but then he stopped, his hand raised in mid air. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She was peering at him curiously, her forefinger and thumb lifting her chin. “Aren't you going to change?”

“No,” he immediately burst out. “I mean – should I?”

“Of course! We're on a beach. You're expected to be wearing a bathing costume,” she laughed. “And anyway, I'd be able feel you sweat in those clothes even if I were a mile away.”

He pondered on her words and then spoke, very slowly, “Maybe I should change.”

Clara clapped her hands happily, as if she was a little girl who had just been promised a big present for Christmas. “Well then. Chop chop. Off you pop to get changed.”

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, but he did what he was told and staggered to his feet. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, with a smirk, on his way to the TARDIS.

* * *

It was taking him more then necessary to come back, and Clara knew it wasn't because of the time required for him to put on a bathing costume. She thought that he was probably standing behind those blue doors, too ashamed to exit them any time in the immediate future. In fact, that was exactly how she found him when she decided to go and rescue him from himself.

When she entered the console room, Clara just managed to catch a glimpse of him ducking behind the console. “Doctor! Why are you hiding?” she laughed and ran towards him, but he backed away and they started a chasing game which ended with Clara's victory. She managed to seize him by his wrists, stopping him in his spot, so she could observe him properly.

He looked away, his sharp cheeks red in embarrassment, but he didn't move. He was wearing a pretty common black boxer-like swimsuit. Clara had seen him naked when he was still young, what felt like a lifetime ago, but she had never seen this particular regeneration so exposed. He was even skinnier than she had thought he would be. Her eyes rested on his chest, which she noted was free of fat or muscles. “All in all, he's not half-bad,” she though, even though she would never say.

She knew she was making him feel uncomfortable, so she settled her eyes on his face, shifting their focus from the rest of his body.

“I can't go out there,” he rapped his arms around his torso, as if to cover it in the best way he could. “I'll go and change back into decent clothes.”

“Don't be silly, Doctor. You're just fine,” and then she grinned at him, encouragingly.

“By the way,” she added, making fun of him, “You're very daring, showing all that  _skin._ ”

“Shut up,” he snapped, as she dragged him kicking and screaming outside.

* * *

As time went by, the Doctor seemed to get more comfortable with all that sudden and personal nakedness. They played cards under the beach umbrella for a while, until Clara suggested to go for a swim. He wasn't as keen as he made Clara believe, but he felt as though she deserved to be happy. His new proposition for that day was to lower his grumpiness to a minimum. At least, he would try.

While they were walking, he asked her why she had wanted to go to the beach, having all of time and space to chose from. She was silent for a couple of seconds. “I had a heavy couple of months at work, and England is always so cold and wet”, she started, looking at the ground in front of her, “In the end, I realized I was spending half of my time staring out of the window and dreaming about the sun and the sea and maybe just some relax”.

She looked up and met his eyes. Her arm insinuated itself gently behind his own, in a way that they hardly even touched, but made him slightly uncomfortable, nonetheless. “So here I am. Thanks to you”, she finished, beaming at him.

He responded with a mild smile, while he tried to avoid any other human contact that wasn't hers. He looked fiercely at the children who ran too close to them, as he replied to her. “Here you are indeed.”

She laughed. “Next time-,” but he didn't hear what else she was about to say, because Clara suddenly shrieked.

“Ohi, Clara! Ouch,” he cried. She had dug her nails into his flesh. He freed himself from her claws and realized by the splashes he created when he moved that he hadn't noticed that they were already in the water.

“It's freezing!” she apologized. She embraced herself and she rubbed her arms with her hands, trying to warm up. The doctor watched her uselessly try to escape the coldness of the sea by jumping from a foot to the other. “Why is it so cold?”

“Oh, stop being such a coward,” and without thinking he lifted her in his arms. He ignored her scream of surprise and the frantic kicking of her legs, and threw her into deeper water.

The entity of the splash was surprising considering how small she was. She burst out of the water, gasping for air and waving her arms madly, more out of confusion than out of fright. She wiped the salty water out of her eyes, before blinking them open. She stared at him with her big dear eyes wider than he had ever seen them and her mouth forming a perfect circle. “Doctor!” she complained.

He looked at her with a challenging smile and she started pacing forward, splashing him with as much water as she could. He covered his face with an arm, but apart from that he showed her an unperturbed smile.

“Is this the best you can do, Clara?” but then she reached him and, with an impressive jump, she literally assaulted him. She clung to him as for dear life, as the Doctor, after a paralyzing moment in which he felt completely lost, put all his might into scrolling her off his back, but without any success, and yelling “Get off me! Get off me!” When he understood her real intentions, it was too late. She was too small to lift him like he had done, so she was trying to repay him by making him lose his balance. She managed perfectly in her evil intent, and they both fell straight into the water.

He raised his head from the water gasping, already looking for his companion to glare at her, but she was laughing. It was a contagious laugh, so the slight curling of his lips betrayed his effort to put on a serious face. He surrendered and grinned stupidly to her.

“Now we're even, Doctor,” Clara managed to say, after laughing so hard her stomach hurt and she had tears in her eyes.

He looked down at her, shaking his head. She raised an eyebrow, a question implied in her eyes. “I managed to make you forget you were cold, haven't I?” he pointed out. “In this case, I think you owe me.”

She chuckled to his words and her eyes brightened. “I guess you're right,” she allowed. “So I suppose you won this round.”

“But don't get to used to it,” Clara warned the Doctor, when she saw him wearing the satisfied expression of a child winning at Monopoly. He laughed and realized how competitive their relationship could be, at times. It sometimes felt as if they were both engaging in a game of power, a never-ending battle between a control-freak and a man who could never be control. They had a relationship unlike any he had ever experienced. It was challenging but for the first time he felt as though they were... equals. He could see right through her and she knew him better than any one ever had in his entire life – and that was saying something. And, he thought, even though he would sometimes lose to her cleverness and quick-mindedness, in the end it always felt like a victory.

* * *

They came back from their swim and they both fell down on their bathing towels, to let the sun dry the salty drops of water from their bodies. Neither of them said a word, until Clara offered him lunch. She reached for her bag, out of which she pulled out sandwiches and fruits and drinks. He Doctor observed her neat operation quietly, waiting for her to finish. “The bag,” she Doctor stated.

“What about it?” she didn't turn towards him, but disposed their lunch methodically on both their sheets, after she had moved her own closer to his.

“It's a gift from the TARDIS, isn't it?"

“How could you tell,” Clara gave him a cheeky smile, which meant she already knew the answer, but he gave it to her anyway.

“It's bigger on the inside.” She nodded and passed him a sandwich. She had prepared everything at home, and he had to admit, even though never out-loud, that she had done a pretty good job. They chatted quietly between a mouthful and the next, the Doctor finally unaware of the people surrounding them and of the noise they made. Once they'd finished, she cleared all the leftovers in a plastic bag and dropped it in her new Mary Poppins-like bag.

They moved closer under the shade of their beach umbrella, finally tired of all the hot and the sun. The Doctor looked at Clara, expectantly. “So, what have you got for me this time?” he showed her the palm of his hand, challenging her to deliver. Clara had put on herself the delicate mission in life to find him books to read. At the beginning he had been all but skeptical, but she had definitely exceeded his expectations. He had already read many of her suggestions – he had been around two thousand years for a reason – but not all of them , which was by itself impressive. Not to mention, she was getting better at each attempt.

He was acting his usual, cool and unimpressed self, but deep down he was anticipating the surprise with excitement.

“Something special,” she plunged her hand in the wicker bag and extracted a book she then passed to him.

He took it, hesitantly from her. “ _Blindness,_ ” he read out loud.

“Have you read it already?” Clara was looking eagerly at him, a wide smile matching his deep frown.

He shook his head, slowly, without looking away from the front cover. “What's it about?”

“I'd ruin the surprise, if I told you”, she winked at him, mocking his constant need of adventure and excitement. He raised an eyebrow at her and accepted the challenge. He found the first chapter, while Clara started reading her own book.

Hardly twenty minutes had passed, when Clara heard him snorting, impatiently. Her eyes emerged from behind her personal world of pages with a interrogative look. “What's the matter?” she asked calmly.

“Nothing,” he didn't look at her.

She knew perfectly well he was lying, so she insisted. “Doctor,” she warned.

He seemed to ignore her, but as soon as she had given up and she had started going back to her own book, he spoke angrily. “A blindness epidemic?” he burst out. “Seriously? It's not even  _plausible._ ”

“It isn't supposed to be  _plausible,_ ” she pointed out. “Look at it more as a metaphor.”

“And what way of writing is it anyway?” he ignored her. “It's all so... messy! Does he know there are such things as semicolons or quotation marks?”

“Doctor, don't be so biased. Try to understand it and maybe you'll enjoy it,” she gave him the look she would usually reserve for her naughtier students. “So, shut up and read.”

The way he was glaring at her told her he wasn't at all convinced. Nonetheless, he didn't argue and turned back to the book in his hand and, putting on the most skeptical face he could master, he started reading again.

It didn't take long for the book to absorb him completely. So completely he became oblivious to the world surrounding him, even Clara. She tried to suggest to him to go for another swim, but after repeating herself a third time without having any reply she decided to go on her own.

He didn't budge form that state until he arrived to the last page and closed the book. He finally raised his gaze with a sigh. He hadn't noticed the cool breeze he now felt on his skin nor had he noticed that while he was reading the sun had started going down, melting in the distant horizon in a beautiful sunset.

“ _He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.”_  The voice startled him, as if he had forgotten Clara was still there. She was looking at him sweetly, in a way he had already seen before, but had never been able to decipher.

"What?", he asked, bewildered. Only then did he realize that his lips had unconsciously curled into a smile.

"One of my favourite quotes from one of my favourite books," she clarified.

He remained silent, before asking " _To the lighthouse_?"

" _To the lighthouse,_ " she confirmed, her soft smile turning into a wide grin.

They silently agreed that it was time to go home. None of them spoke, as they packed their stuff and cleared their spot on the beach. They slowly made their way to the TARDIS, both tired because of the long day, but happy and relaxed. He opened the doors of his blue box for Clara and, as he followed her a second later in the control room, he heard her asking: “So”, she paused to let everything she was holding fall unceremoniously to the metal floor, “Was I right to tell you to give the book a chance?”

He looked at her, hardly able to refrain laughter. She knew perfectly well that she was right. She was hardly ever wrong and she hardly ever lost. He knew that, and, even if he pretended otherwise, he didn't care. To him, losing with her was as good as winning. Being wrong was as good as being right, as long as she smiled and looked at him in the way she was doing in that exact moment.

So when he acknowledged that she was right, his every word, his every feature and his every movement actually told her that he would follow her to hell and back if she asked him to do so. Because all that matter, in that moment, to him, was that Clara – his Clara - was happy.

 


	5. Night at the Cinema

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'm not really satisfied with my work this time, but I'll leave you to judge. In any case, it's very personal. Which brings me to worn you: there are spoilers for those who haven't seen Psycho and Rear Window. 
> 
> I speak directly to these unfortunate souls: WATCH THESE MOVIES. You don't know what you're missing. 
> 
> That said, I hope you enjoy ^^

It was a normal Friday night and London shone bright against the dark sky. A few minutes before midnight many people were making their way home, but for many others the evening was just starting. Either way, the streets were crowded with those who didn't mind the cold weather.

A tall man with gray hair and remarkable eyebrows was making his way through that crowd, pushing people aside as he went. He ignored the insults which addressed his rudeness and continued running.

A sudden noise made him duck, but it was probably just a car that backfired. He was looking around warily, as if he was trying to hide from something. Or someone.

He suddenly turned his head, and his eyes widened in panic.

“Clara!” he shouted, with a clear Scottish accent.

“Clara!” he called again, with increasing urgency. He turned on his steps, looking around frantically and calling out one more time.

“Doctor!” a voice equally scared finally answered. A petite brunette emerged from the crowd, running desperately towards the man. His face showed his deep relief for a split of a second, but then it shifted back to concerned as he reached for the girl's hand and held it in his, while pulling her forwards along the pavement.

The Doctor kept running, checking now and then that Clara was all right, and then turned abruptly in a street to the left. He looked back to see if their followers where behind them, if they had seen them change direction, but there was no one in sight. He shoved Clara into the first illuminated place he could find and then hurriedly followed her inside.

They were in a small, cheep-looking cinema. A few people were lining up at the cash register for one of those late night movie marathons.

He rummaged in his bigger-on-the-inside pocked and pulled out a black, velvet hat – like the ones normally spotted in classic gangster films. He rapped his arm around Clara's neck and pulled her closer, trying to conceal her the best he could. She obviously understood his intention and went along with it. She bowed her head and rapped one arm around his back and the other around his torso.

They walked slowly to the line, pretending to be just a normal married couple who decided to go to the cinema, and not a couple of time-travellers stuck in the year 1991, chased by evil aliens from outer space.

“Are we safe in here?” Clara whispered, looking up at him with her big dear eyes.

“I don't know,” he admitted. “The best thing we can do right now is to hide in here until morning and hope they don't find us.”

“What's going to happen in the morning?” she asked.

“The sunlight is fatal to them,” he explained, “Either they'll die or they'll flee from this planet.”

He could feel Clara relax under his touch and she gave him the first smile since they had started running. The Doctor smiled back and for a short while they simply stared at each other. Finally aware of how close they were, his hearts increased their beat and he thought he saw her blush before she turned her eyes away from him.

They had been so lost in a world in which only the two of them – and possibly an alien threat – existed, that they hadn't realized that the line had finished and that they were facing the ticket office. It was a board looking, gum chewing, middle aged woman who brought them back to reality. She had to cough a couple of times to gain their attention. The Doctor blinked in confusion, before remembering where they were.

“Oh, yes. Sorry,” he apologized, a bit more harshly than intended. “Two for tonight's marathon, please.”

The cashier frowned. “Six pounds,” she said coldly and passed them their tickets.

The Doctor paid her and they walked into the auditorium as fast as they could without looking too suspicious.

Once the door had closed behind them, they parted. There was no need to keep pretending, but Clara immediately missed the warmth of his body against hers. She had found it very comforting, but she would never admit that to him. After all, he was not the hugging type any more.

They found a couple of seats in a dark shadow of the room and they sat down. Clara examined her surrounding properly for the first time. It was a tiny place, compared to the one she used to go to with Danny back at home and very few seats were taken. She wondered whether any of those people could be their chasers in disguise. Somehow she highly doubted it. Although, that man in the opposite side of the room-

“I wonder what they are showing,” the Doctor whispered in her ear, making her jump. He soothed her by caressing for a second her hand which was firmly gripping the armrest of her seat. She hadn't even thought about that, so she shrugged.

He leaned forwards and cleared his voice to gain the attention of a man sitting a couple of rows in front of them. The man turned around. He might have been on his late forties, or early fifties, and his eyes told Clara how sad and lonely he was. After all, she thought, this looked just the place for sad and lonely people. She suddenly felt glad the Doctor was with her.

“Excuse me, sir,” the Doctor asked gently. It was unlike him, but maybe ha had noticed what she had, too. “Could you tell me what's on, tonight?”

The man raised an eyebrow, but was polite enough not to ask that stick insect looking man why he hadn't checked himself when he had come into the cinema and bought the tickets. That's England for you. “They're showing Hitchcock movies.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

The man turned to stare at the space in front of him and the Doctor straightened back on his chair and leaned towards Clara.

“That's good news.”  
“Why?” she asked, confused. “Are they lethal for those aliens, too?”

He frowned, giving her his best attack eyebrows. “No,” he replied slowly, “I meant... At least we've got good movies to pass the time with.”

“Oh!” She sounded disappointed. “Really? I've never heard of this Hitchcock bloke.”

The Doctor gaped at her. He looked away, his mouth opened in dismay, and then looked back at her with his eyes wide open. “You're kidding,” he stated.

“No, Doctor,” Clara told him, defensively. “Why would I do that?”

“What the hell's wrong with you?” he sounded sincerely shocked.

“Ohi!” Clara hissed, hitting him on his arm. “Nothing's _wrong_ with me.”

He rubbed the aching spot she had just punched and glared at her. “Missing those movies...” he shook his head. “Who _does_ that?”

“ _I_ do that,” she said angrily, hitting him again.

“Stop punching me!” he whined.

“Stop treating me as a pudding brain just because I haven't seen some movie,” she retorted.

“ _Some movie?_ ” the Doctor repeated, in dismay. “Oh Clara, my Clara, do I have to teach you everything?”

The girl beside him remained silent at his words. Blood rushed to her cheeks when she heard him use her name like that and, without realizing it, she held her breath. He eventually caught up to what he had said, too, because ha had to refrain a gasp.

They stared at each other, until Clara remembered to breath and swallowed. “You do?” she asked, stupidly, just to fill the void which threatened swallow them both.

The Doctor straightened on his seat. “When I told you I would show you amazing things,” he tried to act naturally, “I didn't realize it meant going back to basics.”

He gave her a tentative smile. He felt her relax beside him and he painfully remembered that she didn't used to have those kind of reactions with his last regeneration.

“It would seem so.” She looked up at him and stared into his big sad sad eyes, which had made her truly realize, what seemed like ages ago, that, no matter which face he wore, the Doctor would always be the Doctor. She felt stupid each time she remembered that she had doubted that it could be otherwise. This thought made her unconsciously grin.

“So,” she started, feeling at ease again. “What's so special about these movies?”

“You'll see.” He told her and winked at her cheekily, making her laugh.

“Spoilers?”  
“Spoilers.” He confirmed and chuckled. “By the way, Alfred wouldn't approve if I told you.”

Clara frowned. “Who's Alfred?”

“Alfred Hitchcock, the director,” he explained impatiently. “He liked to surprise people. And scare them in the process, possibly.”

Clara wasn't amused. “I don't like scary movies.”

“You'll like these,” he assured her. “these are _classy_ scary movies.”

“What makes you think that my problem with scary movies lays whether they're _classy_ or not?” Clara laughed.

He decided not to answer that. “Well you've been through some pretty dangerous stuff, I'm guessing the scary part wouldn't be the issue here,” and then he spotted her uncertain expression. “...or is it?”

“Well...”

“Oh, shut up!”

“OK I will.”

This put a goofy grin on the Doctor's face. He founded hard not to smile when Clara was around.

“So, you know him?” Clara changed the subject.

“Know who?”

“Alfred. Hitchcock.”

“Of course,” he replied. “We go way back, that man and me. He's brilliant.”

The Doctor hesitated, before adding: “We used to play this game...”, she watched him get lost in his memories. “He started appearing in his movies to see if I could spot him – useless to say I always did – and he would do the same with me in Charlie Chaplin's.”

“You're in Charlie Chap-”, but she was interrupted by the sudden sound of the movie starting. A image of a window facing a courtyard was projected on the screen.

“Oh good,” the Doctor whispered in her ear, unusually cheerful. “They're starting with Rear Window. It's my favourite.”

His warm breath tickled her neck giving her goosebumps. She shifted her attention on the film, as she tried not to smile.

After the credits, she watched the camera film a busy courtyard, full of people talking, laughing, living. Two newly-weds, a young and attractive – yet, with a size that modern trend wouldn't approve of, Clara noticed – dancer, man and wife sleeping on their balcony, a man shaving while listening to the radio. And then a man she supposed was the main character: a sweaty, gray haired James Stewart, sleeping on a wheelchair, with a leg sealed in a white cast, on what seemed a very hot day.

She didn't know anything about cinematography, but she thought that what Hitchcock managed to do was to portray an entire existence revolving around that courtyard and the life of L. B. Jefferies in only a couple of minutes. And it also portrayed a time that could have come across as long gone from a XXI century girl's prospective – if that particular girl didn't happen to be a time-traveller.

Clara shivered. She hadn't noticed how cold it was in there. She rapped her arms around her torso and put her hands under her armpits, cherishing the little warmth she gained by doing so as best she could. It would be a long night, and this thought made her shiver again.

The shuttering of her teeth made the Doctor turn towards her. “Are you cold?”

She looked up at him. “No, I'm freezing just because I don't have anything better to do.”

He raised an eyebrow, before catching up on her joke. She thought that was the end of that, because he turned away from her, but then she saw him take off his jacket and settling it roughly on her shoulder. “There.”

“Oh,” she whispered.

“-What?” The Doctor frowned at her as she staid still, staring straight at him with her big eyes. Eyes, he felt, he could easily fall into.

She opened her mouth and it looked like she wanted to say something, but then she closed it into a soft smile. She snuggled in his warm jacket, with its heat giving her some relief from the cold. “Thank you,” she said to him.

He hardly repressed a smile and thanked the darkness that she couldn't see him blushing. He dismissed her gratitude with an awkward wave of his hand and they both went back to watch the movie. 

* * *

She enjoyed _Rear Window_. She admired Grace Kelly's beauty and charm and made a mental note to ask the Doctor if she could meet her. She followed Jefferies investigation with great trepidation, she was at the edge of her chair when Lisa broke into Thorwald's flat and yelped when the same man discovered what they where up to. By the time Jefferies was buying time by blinding Thorwald with the flash of his camera, she was with her eyes wide open and clutching the Doctor's arm with bated breath.

They had often commented what was happening during the movie, passing from her conjectures about how the story would resolve itself to the Doctor's fan facts about the actors and the director and the film itself, which Clara took in like fresh water on a sultry day. He also pointed out Hitchcock to her, because she had never seen him before. “Keep him well in mind,” he had told her, “We'll see if you'll be able to find him next time.”

“But it hardly showed anything,” she had protested. “I could only see a bold man looking at a clock.”  
“Oh come on, I know you're better than than,” the Doctor had smirked.

“And did I also mention they showed him from a distance?” Clara had hissed back at him.

“So you're not up for the challenge, then?” he had provoked her.

“In your dreams.” They had grinned at each other and laughed quietly to try and not disturb the other people who were trying to watch the film and not awaken those who had already fallen asleep.

The Doctor had already seen _Rear Window_ an incredible number of times – blimey, he was there when they were filming it – but he had never had as much fun as that time with Clara. He would never had expected it, but she was overly exited about everything. He sometimes looked away from those scenes he knew so well, because he couldn't help but stare in wonder at her. It was difficult to take his eyes off her – she was so beautiful in the light of the screen, wearing his dark coat and a wondrous smile. Neither of them knew he looked at her like he looked at the wonders of the universe.

* * *

She had already heard about _Psycho_ , but somehow she didn't know about the famous scene of the shower, so she definitely wasn't expecting for the main character to be killed off thirty minutes into the movie. The Doctor had to cover her mouth when she saw a figure on the other side of the shower curtain, to muffle her shriek. All through the stabbing scene she lent towards the Doctor and hold tightly to his shirt, as if her life depended on it, but didn't look away from the screen.

“Don't be such a baby,” the Doctor told her, once she had set him free from her grasp.

“Sorry,” she gasped, seemingly out of breath as if she had just been chased by one of their usual alien threats. “It's just... These movies are so good, they really manage to drag me right into them. Does this make any sense at all?”

The Doctor laughed because it made perfect sense and thought he should go to the cinema with Clara more often.

The girl beamed, feeling how well he understood her, as he always did, but her smile turned into a yawn. She suddenly felt very tired. With all the running they had done in the last twenty four hours, she hadn't realized how little time she had managed to spear to sit down before they had hidden in the cinema, let alone get some proper rest.

She yawned again and found it hard to keep her eyes open. She tried to fight her sleepiness, because, if the next movie was at least half as good as the previous two she had just watched, she didn't want to miss a second of it, but she was having a very hard time remaining awake. So, without realizing it, she settled even further in the warm and comforting jacket she used as a blanket and drifted cozily to sleep.

* * *

“You know,” the Doctor whispered to a unusually silent Clara, at a certain point during _The Birds_ , “I had told Alfred he couldn't use the time we were attacked by shape-shifting aliens as a plot for his movies, but he never listens to me. He never does what he is told. I bet that not even a control-freak like yourself would be able to make him follow orders.”

He didn't get any reply. He had thought a playful provocation like that would be followed by a only too familiar stream of remarks, but all he got was silence. He started to get worried, so he turned towards her. “Clara?” he asked, concern in his voice, but he found her fast asleep beside him. He couldn't help himself but curl the corners of his lips into a small smile, at the sight of how peaceful she looked.

He turned to follow the movie and, after only a couple of minutes, he felt something warm against his side. Clara had snuggled against him, her head resting against his shoulder and she somehow managed to tuck her arms under his – probably taking advantage of his shock which was preventing from making any kind of reaction.

His body remained rigid against hers and his mind was momentarily unable to work properly, since he just couldn't follow the movie any longer. He watched Tippi Hedren being attack by birds and couldn't make any sense of what was happening, even though he had seen the movie several times before.

It took him a while to relax, but he eventually did. The feeling of having her so close and in such an intimate position, actually started filling his chest with a warm and unexpected sensation. They remained in that position all through _The Birds_ , and then the film that followed.

Finally the marathon ended, and the Doctor was almost sorry of having to wake Clara up. He shook her gently and called her name sever times before her eyes flapped slowly open. In the meanwhile, most of the other people had left.

She looked up at him and he could see the confusion in her eyes, as if she couldn't exactly pinpoint where she was, and why. Realization eventually dawned on her, because she nearly jumped on her seat.

“Oh no,” she gasped, parting from the Doctor's side. “Is it over?”

“Good morning sleepyhead,” he smiled. “And yes, it's over. The sun must have already gone up. We're free to go. We're safe now.”

“I meant the marathon,” he could hear the disappointment in her voice. “I wanted to see all of it.”

“Well, it's your fault you fell asleep,” he pointed out, matter-of-factly.

She frowned at him. “Actually,” she answered, annoyed, “It's your fault I was so tired I fell asleep. You and all that running.”

“Don't pretend you don't enjoy it,” he smirked, fully aware of being right.

“Well that's not the point,” she argued.

He looked at her carefully, and realized how disappointed she genuinely was. “Don't worry,” he tried to reassure her. “Now that the coast is clear, we can go back to the TARDIS and we can watch the ones you missed. And also other ones - I've got all of his movies.”

“Really?” Her face brightened as she gave to him one of her best smiles.

“Really,” he confirmed.

She clapped her hands excitedly and jumped to her feet. “Then what are you waiting for? Let's go,” and she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the exit.

The Doctor staggered uncertainly behind her, thinking that she was probably the only living being in the entire universe who could make him willing watch a movie for the second time in the same day, let alone two. No wonder he still called her his impossible girl.

 


	6. Mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Christmas Eve themed fic. Tomorrow I'll post a Christmas one. I hope you'll enjoy it and I wish to everyone a good day ^^

 

On a cold December evening, Clara was pacing the floor of her living room, waiting. She found herself staring outside the window every once in a while, biting her fingernails nervously. Finally she heard the long anticipated whining sound of the TARDIS, as it materialized in its usual spot.

She stood still and crossed her arms across her chest, facing the blue wooden doors. It didn't take long before they opened to show a frowning Doctor.

“So,” the Time Lord demanded, a foot inside her living room and the other still inside his time machine. “What are you waiting for? Chop chop, I don't have all day.”

“Of course you do, you have a _time machine_ ,” Clara pointed out.

He rolled his eyes, impatiently. “It's just a manner of speech,” and he vanished back into the TARDIS.

When she didn't follow him, the Doctor walked into her living room. He stared down at her with a raised eyebrow. “Is something wrong?” he asked, worry resonating in his voice.

Clara looked back at him with uncertainty and didn't answer.

“Come on,” the Doctor urged. “You can tell me.”

She hesitated. “I need you to be my Christmas date,” she said, all at once and with her eyes closed, as if to have it over with as quick as possible.

The Doctor gaped at her. “What?” he sounded incredulous, “ _Again_?”

Clara ignored the exasperation in his voice. “My friend Nina invited me to this fancy party on Christmas eve,something like months ago, and I said I would go.”

He stared at her confused and she continued, gaining a bit of confidence. “The problem is, we had to tell months in advanced whether we were coming alone or not and I checked _plus one_.”

She fired at him all those information like bullets and he would have found it hard to keep up, if he hadn't been used to it. He shrugged. “Yes, so?”

She moved on the spot, both uncomfortably and impatiently. “Will you be my plus one?” she pleaded.

“ _Seriously_?” The time lord frowned at her. “Isn't that the whole point of P.E.? To take you on dates and stuff?”

“P.E. - I mean Danny, Danny is sick,” she scowled. “He's got the flue.”

“I'm finding it hard to keep up with you, here.” He raised his hands, with the palms facing her. She automatically moved them away, while intent at looking at him seriously.

“It's too late to change, now. I need to bring a date,” she explained. She took a step towards him, and he flinched in response. “Please be my date,” she repeated for the third time.

“Have you gone _bananas_?”

She came even closer and rested her hands on his shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes. “ _Please_.”

The Doctor knew this strategy very well. She had used it before, and it had always worked. He moved restlessly under her touch, feeling uncomfortable. He avoided her heavy gaze, trying to find an excuse to get out of that situation. He hesitated, but he eventually gave in. “Fine.”

He saw her eyes brighten up and, as she retreated, she beamed at him. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he shrugged, making his way back to the TARDIS. “Can we go and defeat some Zygons, now, please?”

“Yes, sir,” she chuckled, happily. “So tomorrow...”

“I'll pick you up at 8,” he tried to dismiss the matter once and for all.

“Half pass seven,” she corrected him. “And you need to wear a tuxedo...”

The Doctor groaned and didn't answer. Clara smiled to herself, content of how things had turned out, before following the time lord in his time machine.

* * *

Clara was still finishing to put on her make up, when the TARDIS landed once again in her living room, the very next day. The familiar sound made her smile and she paused, with the hand holding the bottle of mascara in mid air, to look outside the window at the snow falling, as she heard the Doctor's footsteps reaching her bedroom.

She didn't turn towards the open door where the Doctor had stopped walking. Instead, she opened the bottle still in her hand and started applying the mascara on her eyelashes.

“Hello,” she welcomed him warmly.

His reply didn't come right away, and when it did she heard a little huskiness in his voice. “You look very nice.”

This simple statement surprised her pleasantly and curved her lips into a small smile. This Doctor didn't give compliments easily. “Thank you,” she said, finishing her elaborated work on her eyelashes. She left the mascara to dry for a couple of seconds and then blinked twice. She put down the bottle and turned to look at him.

The Doctor was leaning against the door frame, with one leg in front of the other and his arms behind his back. He was wearing a black suit and Clara couldn't help but notice how elegant he was. She beamed at him. “You're not to bad yourself,” her voice was flirtatious on purpose to make him uncomfortable, but she then changed to a friendlier tone. “Look at you, bow tie and all.”

He automatically reached for his bow-tie and straightened it, a familiar gesture she hadn't seen him do in a very long while. “Are you ready, yet?” the Doctor asked her.

“You shouldn't rush the women you go on dates with,” she teased, putting on her earrings, “or you won't get lucky afterwards.”

The Doctor frowned. “What should I need luck for?” he asked confused.  
Clara laughed and didn't answer. She sat up and went to grab her bag. Then, she crossed her bedroom to the door, where the Doctor was standing. She arrested herself a step away from him and patted him gently on the shoulder. “You'll find out when you're older,” she joked, looking up at his dry, lined face. “I'm ready, let's go.”

The Doctor parked the TARDIS in a deserted alleyway just next to the building where the party was taking place. He opened the door with a snap of his fingers and stepped outside. He waited for Clara to follow him, offering his arm to her in a clearly over-ceremonious manner. “Your party awaits, _my lady_.”

She went along with it by slipping gracefully her own arm under his and allowing herself to giggle.

They walked arm in arm and then separated once they were at the entrance. She gave her name to a tall, serious-looking man with a tablet who let them inside.

The Doctor only had the chance to take a brief look at the place – it was a large room, with the round tables distributed along the walls, probably to leave some space in the middle for dancing, as he assumed because of the small, still-inactive, orchestra settled in a corner – before his attention was caught by a voice clearly directed to them.

“ _Clara_!” A young, blond woman, was walking hastily towards the couple wearing a radiant smile.

“Nina,” Clara called back, her face positively beaming now.

“This is the Doctor,” she told her friend as soon as she was close enough. “He's covering for Danny, who got a flue.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that,” she said, although her voice was cheerful and she didn't really appear to be much concerned. She leaned slightly forwards, towards the Time Lord, her head inclined to one side and a interrogative look on her face. “Excuse me, I didn't catch that... _Doctor Who_?”

The familiar question made him and Clara share a complicit gaze. “Just the Doctor,” Clara filled in for him.

“Nice to meet you _the Doctor_ ” she said, ironically, stressing the last part. Then she directed an inquisitive look at Clara.

“He's an old friend,” she explained to Nina. “ _Very_ old friend.”

The Doctor glared at her, but she was avoiding his gaze. Nina, on the other hand, was raising her eyebrows and looking surprised. “Really? I've never heard of you before.”

“She...She's never talked about me?” The Doctor asked, hurt. “Not even mentioned me?”

Nina shook her head, looking at her friend, disapprovingly. Clara rapped her arms around her chest, like some sort of defense mechanism.

“It never came out,” she defended herself, blushing.

There was an awkward moment of silence, which was broken by Nina. “Doctor, our table is over there,” she pointed to the opposite corner of the room. “Clara and I need to go to the restroom.”

And, before any of them could say anything, she was off, dragging Clara with her by the arm. Clara gave the Doctor an apologetic look, to which the Doctor, who had stayed put, with his hands hidden in his pockets, answered with one at least as confused.

As soon as they were in the spotless bathroom and out of sight, Clara freed herself from her friend's grip.

“What's this all about?” she asked, annoyed.

“I should ask _you_ the same thing,” Nina retorted.

“What are you talking about?” Clara asked sincerely baffled.

The other woman raised an eyebrow and her expression had a “Seriously?” written all over it. “I'm talking about the Doctor.”

“What about him?” she asked, confused.

Nina glared at her. “Well for one thing... What about Danny?”

“I've already told you. Danny is at home, sick,” Clara reminded her, impatiently. “To be absolutely thorough, he's probably glued to the toilet, busy-”

“Spear me the details, please,” Nina interrupted her, hastily. “But does he know about him?”

Clara stared at her friend in disbelief. “Of course! I hope that you are not thinking that I'm cheating on my boyfriend with him. He's just a friend.”

Nina frowned at those words. “Oh,” she suddenly appeared strangely uncomfortable. “It just seemed – never mind. Sorry.”

“Wait a second,” Clara stopped her, curiously. “What did it seem like?”

Her friend curled her lips, amused. “Well I just assumed...” she spelled purposely her words, “I saw the way he looks at you. And you seem very comfortable with him.”

This sudden change of tables made Clara sweat slightly and her heart pound hard in her chest. “How does he look at me?”

The question has slipped her lips, before she could help it. She knew what it might sound like, and so did Nina, who softened her smile in response. “You like him, don't you?”

“No!” Clara snapped, a bit too determinedly to appear natural. “I mean, of course I do. I just don't like him that way. I love Danny.”

“You keep saying that. It's seems a bit as though you're trying to convince everyone that you do – including yourself.” Nina gave her a stern look that made Clara blush.

“I do love him, I really do,” she defended herself, but her attempt sounded weak. Not because she didn't believe what she said to be true, but because her friend's earnest words hurt her.

Nina understood that, because her voice turned to a more gentle tone. “You know well my bad habit of saying always the most inappropriate things. I'm not saying that you don't love him – I know you do, at least to some extent. It just seems, sometimes, as though you feel the need to be with someone as good as Danny, but I'm not convinced that it is what you really want, deep down.”

Nina made a serious pause, before continuing: “Sorry,” she repeated. “I've spoken out of line, I know.”

“Yes, you did,” Clara replied, fiercely, but then she smiled.

Nina relaxed, too. She patted Clara gently on the back. “Come on let's go.”

Clara nodded and followed her silently outside. She kept her smile on, but she couldn't help but feel a hint of a doubt growing in her mind. She loved Danny. Of course she did, she was certain of that. Yet, Nina often was right about those sort of things. She was good at understanding people and she was also quite honest. And while she was certain about Danny, she couldn't say the same about the Doctor. With him nothing was as simple as just black and white – everything was more like a big, messy, bundle of eternal grey.

The Time Lord in question was sitting at their table, looking bored. Clara smiled at him as she took the chair beside him. While they were in the rest room, the small orchestra had started playing a soft tune, ideal to accompany dinner. They would probably put on some danceable music later, since waiters were already starting serving the appetizers. Clara took the time before their food arrived to take a look at her surroundings, letting all the decoration and the sizzling lights fill her in with a warm feeling and silent content.

* * *

“The food was good, though, wasn't it?” she asked, hopefully, a couple of hours later, to the Doctor, taking a bite of her dessert.

The Time Lord finished chewing some of his own and swallowed. He shrugged. “We both had better.”

She didn't say anything as she cut another piece of cake.

“New Naples, 3017?”

“New Naples, 3017,” he said almost at the same time.

They grinned at each other.

During the evening, Nina had been using her natural charm on at least half of the guests, probably for work duty, which kept her away from the table for most of the time. This had made it easier for the Doctor and Clara to blend in a private bubble, in which they had chatted along all through the long meal, happily avoiding the other guests of the party. They hadn't even noticed that people had started dancing to old Christmas classics and to moderately recent hits.

But Clara had noticed by the time she asked the Doctor to pour her wine to wash down her last piece of dessert.

“I think you might have drunken enough, tonight.”

Clara giggled at the sight of the Doctor's concerned, and slightly disapproving, face. The giggle made him frown even harder, because it was very unlike her. He observed Clara intently and he noticed for the first time that her cheeks had gone red and her shiny eyes were slightly out of focus. “You're drunk!” he exclaimed, unable to refrain himself because of the surprise.

“No, I'm not,” she snapped, turning back to her old normal self. But she hesitated, as if she hadn't actually thought the matter through properly. “Maybe just a little bit... Tipsy.”  
The Doctor shook his head, unimpressed. If the alcohol in her body hadn't rushed already enough blood to her face, he would have noticed her blushing. She hadn't noticed, during their meal, that she had started drinking wine as if it were water. It hadn't been her intention when she had arrived at the party, that was for sure.

It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, though. She felt kind of... daring. She jumped up from her seat and looked the Doctor straightly in the eye. “Can I have this dance, _my lord_?”, she said, using a false posh voice.

He looked up at her, his expression undecipherable. “I'd rather take you home.”

“I'll let you take me home if you give me just one dance.”

The Doctor sighed. There was no use in fighting it, he knew it too well. Giving her that one thing wouldn't hurt - at least, he truly hoped so, he wasn't a hundred per cent positive about it – and he would be able to leave the party after that. “Fine,” he scowled, grudgingly.

He sat up and accompanied her to the centre of the room, which was reserved as a dance floor, his arm hesitantly rested on her back. It had gotten later than they thought it had. Fewer couples were dancing and the music players were offering the remaining guests sleepy sort of songs, which didn't require too much effort by either side.

They positioned them selves a bit awkwardly one in front of the other. He took her hand in his and she embraced him carefully with her other arm.

They didn't properly dance, they just swayed slowly, hardly even moving from their spot.

Halfway though the song, Clara smiled up at him and then rested her head on his chest. He hoped she didn't feel his hearts pounding faster than usual. He didn't know whether any of this was appropriate. He didn't know whether this was something friends were likely to do. But the feeling he got was of familiarity and comfort, so he decided that, for once, he wouldn't care. It was Christmas, and, in his experience, anything was possible at Christmas.

They didn't leave after the first song. They remained for a second one, and a third one. They suddenly lacked the strength to pull away, just the way it's hard sometimes to step out of the warm jet of the shower and into the cool air, while it's so easy to linger and think “...just one more minute.”

Eventually they reciprocally, and without the need to say it out loud, decided it was time to go.

Clara grabbed her coat and her bag and they went to look for Nina. They gave her a brief and polite goodbye, thanking her for the evening. While they strolled off, Clara turned her head towards her one more time and she saw Nina giving her a melancholic smile she couldn't quite place.

Thy stepped out in the cold winter breeze. Black clouds covered the night sky and offered them no stars, while the ground showed them the remains of the past two days snowfall: a big puddle of dirty water.

They took shelter under the door, while Clara finished to button up her jacket.

“Doctor?” she called, after a few seconds, once she had finished.

He looked down at her and saw her looking back at him. After a moment of silence, she lifted her arm and pointed with her forefinger a spot right above them.

“Mistletoe,” she whispered.

“Yes, so-”

But he wasn't allowed to continue, because Clara stepped on her tiptoes and gave him a quick and gentle kiss on his lips.

It had been a fairly quick affair. It might have lasted less then a second, but it seemed much longer to the Doctor, who widened his eyes in shock and reaching immediately to his mouth with his hand.

Clara's small smile became a wide grin after his complete loss to what she had done. “Merry Christmas, Doctor.”

It took him a while, but he eventually managed to give her an articulated answer, which came out almost as a croak, but certainly not a disapproving one.

“Merry Christmas, Clara Oswald.”

 


	7. It's a Wonderful Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! Or maybe should I say merry Last Christmas! I can't wait! <3 In the mean time, here's a little present from me for all of my Whouffaldi fellows. I hope you enjoy :)

The first thing Clara did once she had arrived home that evening was too kick off her heels to give her poor, sore, feet a well deserved brake. She was used to wearing uncomfortable shoes for long periods of time – it was the price she paid daily to be just a tiny bit less shorter, and running away from monsters didn't stop her either – but having lunch at Christmas with her family made everything more exhausting. It wasn't as if she hated her family _per se._ She loved her dad and her granny and she somehow managed to tolerate Linda. The problem was that they always turned the whole experience into never-ending interviews, which came along with the complete package of pressure, fear of failure, embarrassing moments and _always_ headaches. Maybe she was being a bit hard on them, because they didn't mean it that way. She knew they loved her, and she appreciated their concern, but this didn't make their meeting much less hard to handle. She just wished that Danny would have been able to make it.

Clara freed herself also of her jacket and her bag and let herself fall on the sofa. She stretched her legs tiredly and sighed in relief. She closed her eyes and let her body relax, before reaching for her cellphone and pressing on speed dial.

“Hello, Doctor in the TARDIS speaking. How can I help you?” a voice with a strong Scottish accent answered, after two rings at most.

“Oh, hello,” she faked a surprise. “I must have dialled the wrong number. I wanted to order Chinese take out.”

“Clara, is that you?” he sounded confused. Clara, who still had her eyes closed, could picture him frowning as clearly as if he was standing in front of her.

“Of course it's me, why do you ask?” she laughed.

There was a slight pause. “You said something about wrong numbers and Chinese take-out,” he clarified the reason of his perplexity.

“I was just teasing you,” she said cheekily. “It was my way to react to the way you answered the phone.”

He snorted. “What was wrong with the way I answered the phone?”

“ _Hello, Doctor in the TARDIS speaking. How can I help you?_ ” she gave him a poor imitation of the way he talked, accent and all. “What was that all about? So formal and cold. You know perfectly well it can be only me who calls you. You're so prude when it comes to give away your number.”

“The TARDIS is the powerful machine in the universe and, as you very well know, if her number ended up in the wrong hands the consequences could be disastrous,” he snapped. “And for you information, I was teasing you, too.”

Clara chuckled. “So, that is your idea of a joke, then?”

“As if you were _so_ much funnier than me,” he replied, harshly, but she was starting to feel the smile in his voice.

She decided it was better to changed the subject. “It's been a terribly long day. Would you like to come over to my place?”

She knew, of course, what people might think, when hearing this kind of proposition. But it wasn't _people_ she was talking to, it was the Doctor and she was confident enough he would interpret it as the innocent suggestion that it was. Not that he would be able to give it any another interpretation, anyway.

“Wouldn't you rather go and visit Axtergrathum, instead?” he asked, hopefully.

She sighed significantly and started addressing him as one of her students. “What did I just tell you? I've had a long day.”  
She couldn't see him, but she just knew he wasn't impressed by this mare fact. “I'm sure a trip to the black market of the Fraxilian system will cheer you up.”

“My feet hurt,” she whined, desperately.

This definitely shut him up about planets and places to see. He knew that she would need to be really tired to turn down his offers. “All right,” he replied, softly and compliant.

Clara relaxed and smiled. “Good. And one more thing because you come,” she added, hastily.

“Yes?”

“I know it's Christmas, but don't feel obliged to fulfil any human tradition, it's not what I want” and she was mostly thinking about presents when she said that, even though she was being only half truthful, since she had already gotten him a present. “I just want a peaceful evening with my friend – and possibly Cary Grant or James Stewart.”

This confession warmed the Doctor's hearts and he grinned stupidly, glad she could not see him. “I'll be there straight away, then.”

“You'll better,” she teased him, once again.

But he wasn't. He landed on her living room fifteen minutes later, giving her the time to greet him holding two mugs of smoking hot chocolate in her hand. “How do you manage to arrive late when you have a time machine?”

“The solution is also the problem. Having a time machine always gives me a way to arrive late.”

“You know that you're not making any sense, right?”

He raised an eyebrow and then looked down at the mugs she was holding.

“You made it for me?” he asked genuinely surprised.

“And for me. For both of us,” she smiled proudly at him.

Hoping to himself that her hot chocolates were better then the rest of her cooking, out-loud he asked: “But aren't you full from lunch, or something. Isn't it a custom for humans to eat tons of food at Christmas?”

“Believe me,” she shivered at the memory of that day. “You wouldn't want to do that at _my_ family reunions. Trust me when I say that my culinary skills are genetic.”

The Doctor repressed a horrified “ _Oh God_ ” and reached for his mug, before moving with Clara to her sofa. They both sat down and then he turned towards her nervously.

“I know what you said,” he started, “but I got you something, anyway. Merry Christmas.”

He took out from the internal pocket of his jacket a squarely shaped, blue rapped gift.

She grinned, unconsciously. “I forgive you,” she told him. “I got you something, too.”

He raised an eyebrow as he received, without a word, a present which was bigger than his a which she had somehow managed to keep hidden behind the sofa.

They put down the mugs and opened their own presents in silence, tearing off the gift wrapping paper unceremoniously.

Clara finished first. “Oh, Doctor,” she gasped, when she saw what he had got her. She pressed her forefinger to his chest, pretending to be disapproving. “This is cheating!”

He gave her a devilish smile, staring proudly at the book in her hands. “I know how much you wanted it.”

“You did?”

“Well you couldn't stop talking about it! I thought that giving it to you would finally shut you up,” he laughed. “And anyway, you have it just a month before anyone else.”

“I don't know if I can morally do it,” she pondered, even though she couldn't wait to start reading it already. It was from one of her favorite - living – author, and she couldn't believe she didn't need to wait another four weeks for it to be published.

“Of course you do,” and he went back to opening his present.

His eyes widened in surprise. “...a magician set?”

Clara started laughing, almost uncontrollably.

“Well, I thought it would go well with your new _style_ ,” she managed to say, when she finally caught her breath.

He glared at her, so she hastily added: “Don't worry, your real present in underneath.”

Quite well hidden, he found a dark sweater, one of the kind he really liked and he always wore, but somehow it had a Clara touch to it.

“That's more like it,” he gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_!” She grinned and then she pushed away all the present rapping, switched on the television and covered them both with a worm blanket. She chose the first channel which showed a black and white, Christmas themed movie.

They both watched James Stewart being miserable with his life and then realizing how special he really was thanks to the help of an angel, while sipping their hot chocolates.

Clara felt happy and warm and truly at home and little did she know that, as she slowly drifted to sleep and unawaringly snuggled to the Time Lord's side, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder, the Doctor felt exactly the same.  


	8. Twelve o'clock in Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in Paris, 1968 - forgive any historical inaccuracy - and it's narrated from the point of view of a third character. I don't know if I managed to pull it off, so feel free to tell me what you think :) Good reading **

It was a cold summer night in Paris, and the rain was falling with such determination it made it impossible to see anything - granted that any one would be mad enough to go outside with such a weather - and the sound it made echoed menacingly against the walls of the old buildings.  

Henri, the bartender, was sheltered in his lonely cafe located in a deserted avenue of Montmartre.  

He was standing behind the counter as he observed the storm, absentmindedly cleaning an already spotless glass. He felt like someone witnessing a shipwreck from a safe position on the beach.

He sighed at the thought of the long, lonely night ahead of him. No one would come to his cafe on a night like that, the tempest infuriating outside would make sure of that.

 _Not that his cafe was normally much more crowded than that_ , he thought bitterly.

But he was proven wrong, exactly a moment later, when the door burst open to let in the rain, the wind and, to his utmost surprise, two customers.  

Standing in front of him, panting and soaking wet, were a tall, middle aged man who looked like a magician whose trick had gone tragically wrong, and a short, young woman in a summer dress.

She was trembling and rubbing her hands on her bare arms in an obvious attempt to warm herself up, clearly so cold he could hear her teeth chattering.  

On the other hand, her companion appeared unnaturally still, and strangely composed for a man who had just undergone, on his own skin, a terrible storm.  

There was moment of silence, filled only by the muffled noise of wind and thunder, before anyone spoke.

"I know what you're going to say..." The man started, tentatively.  

" _How many times_ ," she interrupted him before he could continue, her apparent calmness making only more tangible in her voice the approaching fury. "How many times have I told you not to use H.A.D.S.?"  

The man's sharp cheekbones became a dark shade of pink. "Mmmm..."

" _Doctor_!" She warned him.

"...many times," he eventually said. "Many, _many_ , times."

"And yet you used it," she said, disapprovingly, with her hands pressed to her hips. " _Again_."

The man she had called Doctor rolled his eyes and then, without looking at her, muttered a not entirely convinced "Sorry".  

There was a moment of stubborn silence, before the woman called Clara started to chuckle.

He looked down at her and she looked up at him, both grinning like idiots at each other.  

"This time the TARDIS didn't go as far as last time, I promise," he said, looking at her softly. "We'll wait here in the meantime. You should try to get dry, or you'll get a cold."

She nodded, confidently, and they turned toward Henri, who hadn't realized he had been staring at them the whole time. This realization made him almost drop the glass he was holding.  

They seemed as startled as he was, as if they had been lost in their own private world and hadn't notice until then that they weren't alone.  

He saw them shift slightly apart, before that awkward silence was broken.

"Well," the man started, impatiently. "What are you waiting for? Can't you see Clara's freezing? For goodness sake."  

Henri's mouth fell right open. He couldn't believe someone could be so rude, just like that, for no apparent reason.

Clara, who seemed to be used to this kind of behavior, punched him and shot him a warning look. Then, she turned toward Henri and gave him a warm smile. 

"I'm so sorry," she apologized kindly. "He doesn't know what he's saying." 

To those words, the Doctor showed her an outraged expression, but she ignored it.  

"What he really meant is if you could be so nice to leaned us something we can use to dry ourselves, please. Crazy weather outside, eh?"  

Henri blinked, still quite put off by the entire situation, but he eventually nodded. "It is, indeed," he managed to say, slightly embarrassed. "I'll get you some towels."  

That said, he gave a disapproving look to the Doctor and turned away from them, as he made his way to the small room behind the counter.

He opened the cupboard and started searching for the towels, while continuing to keep an eye on the two of them.

They spoke perfect French, but he still couldn't understand what the hell they were talking about. They somehow felt perfectly out of place, even thought he couldn't really say how. At the same time they gave him a sensation of security and comfort and trust he was unable to explain.

With the corner of his eye he saw them shift even closer together than they had been before, as if physically slipping back in their personal bubble.  

They started whispering, so he couldn't make out what they were saying, but he could see the devotion in his eyes reflecting the trust he saw in hers.

He slowly emerged from the small room and from behind the counter. "Here are the towels you asked for," he said, to announce his presence. "I hope they're OK." 

The Doctor looked annoyed by the interruption and Clara herself seemed to find it hard to look away him, but she did and showed Henri a radiant and grateful smile.

"They're perfect," she said, taking them in her arms and handing one of them to the Doctor. "Thank you so much. Could I used the restroom?"

"Sure," he answered, courteously, addressing her in its general direction. "It's the door in the corner, over there."  

She nodded and thanked him once again, before leaving the two man behind her as she made her way towards the restroom.

The Doctor turned away from Henri and went to sit down at one of the small tables, while Henri settled back to his previous occupation.  

They both waited for her to come back in perfect silence, neither of them spearing a direct glance for one another.

When she eventually returned in the room, all cleaned and dried-up, he couldn't help but notice how pretty she was. No wonder the Doctor looked at her the way he did.  

Henri wasn't a psychologist, but he had learned a thing or two, over the years, standing behind that counter. One of them, he was proud to say, was the ability to read faces - and what he could see on the Doctor's was pure, uncomplicated, adoration.

* * *

 "Is it... A woman?"  

"Yep."

"Is this woman a shape-shifting human?"

"No. My turn." 

Henri looked in amusement at the concentration frowning their faces, as he layed their orders on the table.

"English Tea," he thought to himself, shaking his head disapprovingly. Who orders this stuff, in summer moreover? No one from Paris, that's for sure.  

He put down one cup in front of Clara and the other in front of the Doctor before, lifting the tray off the table.

The Doctor lifted his cup of smoking tea and sipped it. He cursed at the bite of burning water against his tongue, while still holding the piece of paper against his forehead with his other hand.

Henri had seen that game before. "Who am I". He had provided them with some paper and a pen and now they were trying to guess each other's character through simple questions that could have only "yes" or "no" as an answer.

He was sure he had never heard such strange questions in his entire life, so by the time the young woman had asked the Doctor weather the character she was trying to guess was a _shape-shifting human_ he couldn't have said he was surprised. He thought it was probably a code they alone held he key to.

"Did you meet this person?"

"Yes." 

"And by you, I mean you _you_ , - he leaned closer and whispered, but still loud enough so Henri could hear him - not, like, _echo you_."  

This curled Clara's lips into a smile.  

"It was me _me_."  

"Good," he hesitated, as if it was a conversation they often had but that still managed to make him uncomfortable. "Were you with me? Or were you with the other me?"

"Only questions I can answer yes or no to, Doctor," Clara warned him.

"Oh yeah." 

" _Every time_ -" 

The Doctor frowned at her with his mighty eyebrows and she stopped talking at once, but still seemed to be holding back a shadow of a laughter.

"Let me rephrase it," he continued. "Were you with me _me_?"

"No, the other you."

Henri felt that the best thing to do with such a surreal conversation was to just go with it, and he discovered he was could manage that quite easily. Funny the things you get used to. It was as if he had known, from the very minute they had come in, that he couldn't expect normality from these two. 

"Fine, yes, of course" the Doctor stated brusquely, seemingly annoyed.

If he had to give any kind of explanation, Henri would have said he sounded jealous, but that didn't make any sense whatsoever.  

In the mean time, Clara seemed fully dedicated to the delicate task of deciding what to ask next.

After a couple of minute of silence, the Doctor started tapping impatiently a finger against the table. "Could you please hurry? I feel like that one time we went to see that experimental theatrical piece - never doing it again, by the way. That was a mistake."

"All right, _all right_ ," Clara's eyebrow shot up in sign of disapproval. "Was she one of your previous companions?"

"No - well, yes" he corrected himself right away. "Mmm... It depends. Clarify what you mean when you say _companion_."

Clara stared at him, confused. 

"What do I mean-" but than she stopped in mid-sentence, sudden realization clearly dawning on her. "No please Doctor, please don't tell me you chose _River_ again."

His hesitation was enough to confirm her suspects, so she brought the piece of paper she had been holding against her forehead to her eyes. "You _did_ chose River again," she almost shouted.  

Henri inadvertently chuckled. He did before he could help himself, or at least cover it somehow, so to make it seem less obvious he had been eavesdropping.

"Sorry," he said in a muffled sound, without looking at them directly in the eye, and went back to his meaningless occupation.

Neither of them seemed angry, or offended, by the fact he had been listening to their conversation, though, but the Doctor's face did show confusion.

"Why is he laughing?" the Doctor asked Clara, making it clear that she was the one person he normally addressed when he needed help, while also making Henri's cheeks and ears burn in embarrassment.

"I'll tell you why," she replied, angrily. "It's because I did the same."

There was a moment of silence before the Doctor burst into laughter, and went to see with his own eyes the name scribbled on his own piece of paper - only to start laughing even harder. 

It was such a contagious laughter that Clara followed him soon after, and Henri found himself fighting hard not to join in himself.  

* * *

"Do you miss them?"  

"Who?"

The Doctor stirred distractedly the impossible amount of sugar he had put in his second cup of tea.

Clara warmed her hands by rapping them around her own cup. She was looking very intensely at him.

"You know who," she said, softly. "Your traveling assistants. Your companions. Your previous... _Me_."

Henri pondered on her words. "Traveling assistants". So could that be the nature of their relationship? They both suggested to be much more intimate than that. 

Even given their age gap, it didn't even cross his mind that they might have been related somehow - like father and daughter. They rather looked like very old friends. Actually, to be perfectly honest, If he had to guess, he probably would have said they were husband and wife. This made him feel sorry for himself. He had never felt that kind of connection, that kind of perfect understanding those two implied in every gesture, in every word.

With them, nothing was explicit - he hadn't seen them kiss or anything of the sort - but everything was subtly transparent.  

"Of course I do," the Doctor said, still without raising his gaze and bringing abruptly Henri back to reality. It had taken him so long to reply that Henri had even forgotten she had asked a question. 

For a while, it seemed like he wouldn't add anything to that, but he eventually continued. 

"I miss them and at the same time I don't, actually."  

The Doctor weighed his words, slowly. Carefully.

"It was me, and yet they feel part of another man's memory, in a strange way. It's hard to explain."

"I think I might understand what you mean."

The Doctor finally lifted his head and stared at her.

"You do?"

"Yeah," she said, hinting a brief smile. "You know -  _the echoes_."

He grinned at her. "Of course you understand. Clara Oswald, I should have known. You always know."

Adoration was shining in his eyes and Henri saw Clara blush, slightly.

She tapped a finger nervously against her cup.

"One day I'll be the same faded memory."

His smile turned into a deep, sad, frown.  

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe you won't. Not you."

She raised her eyebrows, confused. "Why not?"

"Well, because you're my Impossible Girl," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire universe and he was surprised he had to say it.

Clara didn't say anything. She just smiled the sweetest smile and they were back in their own private world again.

* * *

The sun came up soon after it had stopped raining.  

Henri was finding it hard to stand up on his two feet so he had sat down at one of the tables, dedicating half of his attention to a crossword he had left unfinished a long time ago.

Clara had fallen asleep, with her head resting on her arms, on the table.  

The Doctor on the other hand didn't seem like he needed any rest. Henri had glanced every now and then in his direction and had seen him reading or scrabbling on a notepad.

As the first lights of dawn started filling the little cafe, the Doctor raised his head from his book. He stared blankly outside for a few seconds and then turned to look at Clara. 

He probably didn't realized he was being watched, but Henri could swear he saw the Doctor smiling sweetly at the young woman sleeping peacefully in front of him, the corners of his eyes softening, for a second, in what Henri could only describe as unadulterated devotion.

A second later, the man was stroking her hair and calling her name.

"Clara?" He said tentatively. "Clara?"

When she didn't respond right away, he started to get worried.

" _Clara_?" He repeated, anxiously.

The girl moaned and lifted her head, showing him a suffering expression.

"Are you OK?" The Doctor asked, the concern palpable in his voice.

"Yes," she groaned. "But I'll be much better once I'll have a cup of coffee. It's not very comfortable to sleep like this, you know? Actually, I know for a fact that you can't possibly know. I wish I had so little need to sleep as you do."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You sure?"

"Of course! There would be so many things I could do with that spear time."

He chuckled. "Well we can go now, it stopped raining."

She stretched and turned to watch outside.

Henri stood up from his seat. "Would you like me to prepare you some coffee before you leave?"

At these words, Clara positively beamed at him.

"Yes, _please_."

He took away their third cup of tea and replaced it with a warm cup of coffee.

He hoped they could drink it slowly and stay a little longer. He had gotten used to their presence.

But the Doctor was obviously impatient of leaving and Clara didn't seem to want to linger for so much longer herself.

The Doctor payed and Clara gave Henri a smile so beautiful it made his heart skip a beat. She then thanked him and they both said goodbye.

"Goodbye," he said melancholy back at them, watching them make their way outside.

Just before exiting from the cafe, they stopped simultaneously on their tracks, like perfectly synchronized clocks.

The Doctor looked down at her. She looked back up at him and he smiled.

"Ready to go home?" He asked.

"Ah," she grinned, giving him a knowing look. "I'm definitely ready for a warm and comfy bed, but home was never far away."

That said, she opened the door and they walked outside and Henri had the strangest feeling he had left the opportunity of a lifetime slip through his fingers.

 


	9. This Is What Friends Are For

Clara was trying her best, but, honesty, sometimes, - even though she would never confess it to anyone, not even the Doctor, especially not the Doctor - she felt like she just couldn't make it. 

She had gained the ability to pretend that everything was under control, that she had it all figure out. She had become the perfect image of someone who always knew what he was doing, and always knew where he was going, and she had managed to fool everyone.

But, truth was, most of the time she didn't have a clue how she managed to balance her two worlds, which were in fact constantly on the edge of colliding. 

One moment she was chased by an horde of angry Daleks, the next she was forced to spend the night grading her students' assays because the Doctor had dropped her home late.

And there she was, once again, at half past one in the morning with still two piles of homework to do, when she heard the familiar sound of the TARDIS fill her silent apartment

" _No no no no no no_ ," she groaned. _"No no no_ , not now, _no no no_."

She emitted a frustrated noise when she realized that throwing curses at the TARDIS wouldn't make her go away.

There was a moment of silence, before she heard a door being flung open and a very familiar Scottish accent coming from the living room.

"Clara?"

The Doctor concern was palpable in his voice and this just made her feel all the more desperate. She passed her fingers through her hair and pulled it in frustration.

" _I'm fine_ ," she yelled back at him. "Now please leave, I'm busy!"

She knew she had made a mistake as soon as those words had left her mouth, because not only they wouldn't serve their purpose, but they also would make the Doctor want to stay more.

She heard hurried footsteps coming toward her and started to panic.

"Clara?" The Doctor repeated. "Is it those Sontarans again?"

But when he entered the kitchen the only thing he saw was Clara sitting at the table to the dim light of a small lamp and with her head buried in her arms.

"No just - go away" she moaned. "Leave me alone."

There was a moment of silence, before the Doctor spoke again.

"Clara?" He repeated, obviously taken aback. "Is everything OK?"

She sighed against her arms and then, so slowly it almost felt like slow-motion, she lifted her head and shot him a furious gaze.

"Of course _everything is OK_ ," she barked back at him. "Except maybe - _just maybe_ \- for the fact that there is an alien in my house _at one o'clock in the morning_."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow in response to her bitter sarcasm. "I'm sorry, I landed the TARDIS badly," he retorted, harshly, "but you've never complained before, so I hardly think that this is the case."

"I've got a billion of papers to grade and only a few hours left to do so, never mind that it will be the second night in a row that I won't be able to sleep, thanks of course _to you_ who after two thousand years still have to learn how to arrive on time with your _bloody time machine_ ," she shouted, finally able to let weeks and months of repressed stress and exhaustion out of her system. " _Happy now_?"

The moment of relief she had felt after she had finished talking was hastily replaced by an oppressing feeling of guilt.

Why had she been so rude to the Doctor? She didn't really believe those terrible words. He didn't deserve to be the poor victim of her lack of organisation.

Tiredness had the better of her: she started shaking and her eyes began to burn.

Without looking at him she hid her face behind the palms of her hands. A sob escaped her mouth.

"It's just the result of the stress I've accumulated," she tried to justify her behavior to herself, but even so she didn't want the Doctor to see her like that. She was afraid to look up at him, so she remained still in that position, hoping he would just leave, and at the same time that he would come and cradle her, as if she were a little girl.

"But why don't you come in the TARDIS?" He eventually said. Much to her surprise -and relief-, his voice was kind and soft. "You would have all the time you want to finish grading those assays. And to sleep, too."

She shook her head vigorously, feeling like a petulant child. "No! I have to manage to organize myself. It's my fault, I have to fix it. Even when I'm in the TARDIS, even when we go back in time, my biological clock keeps on ticking and I don't want to waist the time I've got that way. I'm not doing that anymore. I have to manage, I have to find a way," she concluded, raggedly.

She then lifted her head and looked at him in the eyes, while giving him an apologetic smile.

The serious expression he gave her in return scared her, and hurt her. "Well," he said, without returning her smile. "OK, Then."

She nodded, gravely. "That's OK," she thought, bitterly. "It's what I deserve."

Clara expected him to turn his back on her and walk away, without even saying goodbye, but instead he moved towards the kitchen sink and turned on the tap. 

She followed his movements, extremely puzzled. "Doctor?"

He turned to look at her. "Yes?" He asked, as if nothing unusual was going on.

"Mmmm... What are doing?"

He frowned. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"It seems like you are still here and you are opening the the tap of my sink," she sad, tentatively.

"I'm putting on some tea," he explained, with the impatient voice she knew so well and, oddly enough, managed to reassure her a bit.

"And why are you doing that?" She asked, still confused.

"Well, we're both going to need loads of it to get through the long night that lies ahead of us, don't we?"

And then his frown turned into an encouraging smile.

She couldn't help but smile herself. "What? So, you're gonna _help me_?" She asked, amazed.

"Well, of course."

"Why?" She asked, suspiciously.

Clara watched him think about it for a second, before he answered: "Because this is what friends are for."

At those words, her heart swelled with all the affection she felt for him, that moment more than ever. It was suddenly as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

She didn't say anything. She knew there was no need to say anything, not right then, anyway.

She just grinned stupidly at the Doctor, _her friend_ , and he grinned stupidly back at her, and she felt that everything would be just fine if they just continued doing that.


	10. Love, Clara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and the Doctor exchange a brief e-mail correspondence across the galaxies

From: Clara 

To: The Doctor 

Dear Doctor, 

How are you? I hope you are rotting in hell because that is where you belong, you insufferable no-show. You better have a good explanation for skipping the dinner I so gracefully prepared for us. 

Love,  

Clara 

* * *

From: The Doctor  

To: Clara 

Claaaaaaaaaaaaaaara it's so nice to hear from you! I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you I couldn't make it. Being captured by cyber-monkeys tends to be a little distracting, but I promise it won't happen again. 

I'm glad to hear you still love me even though you are mad at me and I hope the food didn't go to waste. What did you make for us? Please don't spare any details, the only food they've been giving me has been something that I'm guessing - hoping - is smashed blue bananas. Yuck.

Love, 

The Doctor 

* * *

From: Clara 

To: The Doctor 

Cyber-monkeys?? Why didn't you bring me to see the planet of the-cyber monkeys instead of that XXX century museum of cutlery you showed me last week? I'm starting to think you are keeping all of the best places to yourself. I know that I've been traveling with you for more than I care to admit - more than I could even keep count of, really - but you still have the two-thousand something years advantage and the universe is vast, so you don't need to worry that I'll ever catch up with you.  

"Love" is something you put at the end of an e-mail, you oaf. Just because I'm mad at you doesn't mean I should forget my manners, but please don't take it literally until I say you can. 

And if you think that being held captive somewhere in space will be enough for me to forgive you... well, my dear friend, you are mistaken. How did that happen, by the way? Please keep in mind that I'm not asking because I'm worried about you, but because I'm curious. You know I love a good story.  

Love,  

Clara 

P.s.: I made chicken curry and there was ice cream for dessert. The good chocolate one that you like. I had to eat it all by myself BUT IT WAS WORTH IT. Enjoy your blue bananas  

* * *

From: The Doctor 

To: Clara 

Well EXCUSE ME if I thought that you might have enjoyed it as much as I do. It's one of my go-to-places for when I'm stressed and I need to relax. It's like your "Netflix and chill", isn't it? I was inviting you to my version of "Netflix and chill" and you just... You know what? I know every single language that has ever been spoken and that ever will be and I don't even know a good word to describe how ungrateful you are.

Well. Ungrateful, probably.

Anyway, if you can't appreciate the beauty of the evolution of the fork, then that's your problem. Next time I'll show you something else, instead. Something boring. 

In any case, I only found the cyber-monkeys by accident. Something went wrong with the TARDIS and she landed me in this place. Did you temper with the console again? It's the only explanation possible, I never land her in the wrong place/time.  

You know, I've never been here before. Nor have I ever heard of this planet before. That's new. You're never too old to try new stuff, see new places. And even though I now am in a small cell with no windows, it was worth it to come here. 

You should see it, Clara. The entire planet is covered by a huge forest. A bit like a few years ago, on Earth, but here the trees are so much higher and all of different colors. Oh, and they are electronic.

I was exploring - because you don't discover a new planet without exploring it afterwards, it's just good manners - when the monkeys captured me and they got my TARDIS, too. Now I'm stuck in a sort of cell. It's completely bare and they only open it once a day to feed me. Thank god I'm not a human, because the days here are 48 hours and 23 minutes long.  

I know you know I counted them. Well, what can I say, there wasn't much to do here before you wrote to me.  

You are always good company, even when you're mad, and I await your reply most impatiently. 

Love,  

The Doctor  

* * *

From: Clara 

To: The Doctor 

Doctor, I don't think you understand what humans from the 21st century mean when they say "Netflix and Chill". I'll tell you all about it when you're older.  

I DON'T temper with the TARDIS. I fly her. The only one who loves tempering is you. I know it. River knows it. The TARDIS knows it. And it's about time you learnt it, too. It usually goes like this: you temper, you forget all about it as soon as you are finished, something goes terribly wrong, you blame someone else. Generally, me. And you always do what now?? If I had a pound for each time you've taken me to the wrong place/time I could buy a TARDIS all of my own, probably. I mean, have you even met you? Actually, I know for a fact that you have – remember that time you saved Gallifrey and you were all so competitive about who was cleverer and who had the biggest screwdriver? Seriously, You're the only person I know who manages to compete with himself.   

OK, I was joking in my last email. If I have to be totally honest with you, I always love it. Traveling with you, that is. Even when it is to strange museums. It might because of you. We always have the best of times, you and I, don't we? 

When you are finished with this prisoner-phase of yours, will you show me this place? You didn't go exactly into detail, but my mind raced today during school and I kept fantasying about it and in my imagination it got increasingly beautiful the more I got bored.  

It's been a long day, I don't know if you can tell.  

By the way, how long are you planing on staying there? It doesn't seem like the ideal situation. As a matter of fact, it seems rather dull to stay all day closed in a cell with no windows with nothing else to do but wait for my emails. And speaking of, if you can write to me, AKA use the internet, you should be able to come back, too. So why are you still there, again?  

Thank you Doctor, you are pretty good company yourself, even when you're not here. 

But be here soon, OK?  

Love,  

Clara 

P.S.: this time, I really mean the "love" part.

* * *

From: The Doctor 

To: Clara 

Don't be silly, Clara. Second of all, they only give TARDISes to Time Lords. You know, Gallifreyans who have gone through the Academy and all that unbearable bureaucracy? If you think you humans have it bad, you should see the queues to our post offices. They're idiots, Clara. They think they are all that just because they are sooooo clever, but actually they were, are and always will be idiots. But I'm digressing and you know all of this already. And first of all, Gallifrey is lost, so where would you even buy a TARDIS? There are no IKEAs where you can buy mountable time machines. Yet. And they won't be TARDISes when they do.  

Why do you want to buy a TARDIS anyway? I thought you liked traveling with me, but I'm starting to wonder whether you are just taking advantage of me, because of my dashing ride. Either way, shame on you. 

Oh no, right – then you write about how you like traveling with me. Sorry. I should just delete what I've just written, but life is too short to be waisted on such things so I'll just leave it there. You are clever, I know you'll get it.  

I'm sorry to hear it's been a long day for you, too. What happened? Tell me about your day, Clara.  

I am using my sonic sunglasses to write to you. And before you get too angry, let me answer the questions you already have on the tip of your tongue, because I know what you are going to say. Could't have I broken free from my cell with the aid of my sonic sunglasses? No, this cell is made of wood. Why can I upgrade my screewdriver hundreds of times and still not have a wood setting? I don't know, Clara, but I do have a theory that it might be a plot-device flaw. Just think Death Star from the first Star Wars movie. But couldn't I have called for help? Yes. Even better, couldn't I have  summoned the TARDIS with them? Absolutely. Then why didn't I do that, Doctor?? Well, it's very simple, Clara. This way I get to study a new alien civilisation! Isn't that exciting? I've tried to learn all I could about their habits and their ways of life, and their motifs of course. I can't be held here for days at a time without any questioning, there must be a reasons and I am going to find out what it is, I promise you that.  

Don't worry, Clara, I'll be there soon :) And then I'll take you somewhere nice, wherever and whenever you want, to make up for missing our dinner and to thank you for being so patient with me. 

Love,  

Doctor  

P.S.: I've always meant it

* * *

From: Clara 

To: The Doctor 

"They think they are all that just because they are sooooo clever, but actually they were, are and always will be idiots" – you managed to sum up your life in just one phrase, bravo ;)

(I am just kidding, I love you, don't be mad)

There must be a reason, you say. You, of all people, should know that that is not true. You've spent centuries saving and traveling with humans, and yet you forget how they react to what is new and different. They are frightened by it and they lock it away. Is it such a stretch to think that other civilisation would do the same? Actually, this isn't a rhetorical question. I'm positively curious. I wonder why I've never thought about this before.  

How was my day? I'm so glad you asked. It. Was. So. Long. I didn't even have a trip with the TARDIS to look forward to, thank you very much. Instead, I spent all day trying to avoid eye contact with the classroom clock. It was a battle I sorely lost, I'm afraid. I imagine even my students would have noticed if they hadn't been too busy doing the same.  

I don't know, Doctor. Lately, I feel restless. You know, like when you are watching television, but you can't stand still and you feel the need to keep your hands occupied, to do something else at the same time. Like knitting.  

(By the way, I hope you liked the new scarf I knitted for you. You better at least say it was better than the last one, because it is. I'm getting better. But the third one's the charm, you'll see) 

I would like to be able to appreciate the joys of teaching as much as I used to. I still do, but less frequently and I get bored much easily.  

That's thanks to you, by the way. How can I be ever fully content when I know what I could be doing instead?  

Still, it depends on the days. On what period it is, even. Today I gave my year 11 a surprise test just because I didn't feel like doing anything else, but than I went outside with my year 8, because it was a beautiful day, and we did our lesson in the school's botanical garden. We walked among the plants and I talked about Mary Shelly's Frankenstein. They were all unusually good (you know how my year 8 can be), but it was also because I told them I would give them so much homework that they would forget what it means to have fun for the rest of the year, if they didn't behave. They had also been looking forward to do this for ages, ever since I had promised them I would show them what a peripatetic lecture looked like. You know, like the ones Aristotle does (don't tell Aristotle, I promised him I wouldn't, he's so jealous of his methods).  

So that was nice, actually.  

Then, off to overhaul my motorbike and grocery shopping. Boring pudding brain sort of chores. Argh, listen to me. I'm starting to sound like you. 

Now I'm at home, writing to you instead of getting started with the pile of essays I have to revise. Still better than watching the new episode of Orphan Black. No matter how hardly I'm tempted, I won't. I'll wait for you, I promise. This reminds me, I miss you. 

Tell me what you've learnt about those cyber-monkeys in your next letter and I'll tell you all about what Libby wrote in her essay. I had told them her write about her hero. It's you, in case you missed it. 

Lots of love,  

Clara  

* * *

From: The Doctor 

To: Clara 

You are right about humans. I seem to always forget how most of humanity reacts to what, and who, is different, because I'm so used to travel with the best of them. But you must also consider that in 2015 they are still so primitive – relatively speaking, that is. More advanced civilisations react differently when they get visitors from outer space, because they are so used to them. And since when have you started referring to humans as "them", anyway? Moving on...

Oh, the things I've learnt, Clara.  

I've learnt that they communicate not only by words but also by tapping their feet on the ground. Words take different meaning according to how many taps they produce at the same time. For instance, "Ftukhen" with one tap means water, but with two it means river, and three sea. Isn't it fascinating? You might wonder, "but how can they walk or run and talk at the same time?". Easy, they actually use their long tale to move. It's electronic, you see, and it's appositely engineered to stretch to different lengths and magnetically latch on to those trees I told you about. The different colors aren't just aesthetic either, they actually indicate the different roads, that lead to different places. But not all of them, some of them you can't latch onto, because they carry out specific functions - like lighting, or supermarkets.  

Oh yes, I forgot to tell you. I'm free now. Turns out that these civilisation of cyber-monkeys are highly hypochondriac, so they put every new visitor in quarantine. Basically, they keep them three days inside special containment cells and they feed them specially devised detox food. They didn't tell me that because they thought it was obvious. So, just a cultural mishap, apparently.  

I've spent the last day exploring and talking to the locals and now I have so much new information I can't wait to tell you. They are preparing me a special feast this evening, in compensation for the discomfort they put me in. As soon as that is over I'm coming, I promise. 

I've missed you, too, Clara.  

Lots of love,  

The Doctor  

* * *

From: Clara  

To: The Doctor 

Finally! I was giving up hope. I thought you had left me stranded on Earth for ever.  

Will you take me to visit this planet of the cyber-monkeys? It seems lovely, although I'm not so sure about those three days of quarantine.  

Speaking of, where are you taking me next?  

I'm waiting. 

Love, 

Clara  

* * *

From: The Doctor 

To: Clara 

Wherever and wherever you want, Clara. How about going to see the Galactic Championship of fire-skating? Would you be interested in that?   

I know you were only joking, but you never have to worry about me leaving you behind. Not now, not ever. Not you, Clara. My Clara. I couldn't bear it.  

I'm coming, now. Lend an ear for the sound of the TARDIS and be ready to run. :) 

Love,  

The Doctor

 


End file.
